


Snow Like Falling Stars

by emelianss



Series: Winter Magic [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Disease, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Prince!Jean, Witch!Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emelianss/pseuds/emelianss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>["I never was very fond of snow before I met you."]</p><p>Jean is a prince avoiding his duties and Marco is the magical commoner boy he falls in love with amidst a rain of stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! This was meant to be a short, fluffy oneshot about snow and sweet boys falling in love, but since I couldn’t stick to either of those things, here I am with this 25k+ three-chapter-fic instead. I decided to split it up because I’ve already missed at least five deadlines (the first one was Christmas) (it’s still not done) and today marks one year since I tumbled head first into my endless love for these two boys, so yeah. Today it is! (The rest should be up within a month or so.)
> 
> This is the first time I post any of my writing online so I’m very nervous, but also super excited. I hope you like it, and I’d love to hear what you think! :D

The first time they met, big fluffy snowflakes were falling from the darkening sky.

It covered the world in a white blanket; everything from the small houses to the high castle walls towering above them. Happy voices echoed through the still evening, dancing through the air around a group of children playing in the snow outside their home. Marco, the oldest of them, was on his knees rolling a growing ball across the ground, planning to make it the base of a snowman. He had just pressed it into place when another boy appeared seemingly from nowhere.

‘Oh!’ the boy sounded, eyes lit up with excitement from seeing what Marco and his siblings were doing. ‘Can I join too?’

The youngest children, the six-year-old twins Macy and Milo, nodded eagerly before proceeding with their messy snow angels, their laughter loud and unashamed. The middle one, Maria, neither welcomed nor told him to leave. She just gazed out from under her long bangs with cautious eyes, waiting.

Giving his sister a quick glance, Marco rose to his feet and turned to face the stranger. Even from this distance he could tell that the blond boy was better dressed than either of them; the dark colour of his cloak glimmered clean and beautiful in the faint light from the windows, and its fur made sure he stayed warm. His age was harder to tell, but he at least looked younger than Marco. Not much, perhaps, but enough to make it peculiar to see him there alone. Even Marco wasn’t allowed to go too far away on his own.

The boy stepped closer, his eyes darting from the squealing twins to the silent girl by the snowman-to-be and finally back to Marco. He frowned a little, but his expression was otherwise open as he asked again with a tilt of his head if it was all right.

Marco brushed his uncertainty aside and smiled. It was just another child; nothing to worry about. ‘Sure!’ he beamed, waving the stranger closer, and the boy leapt forward eagerly. ‘You can help with the next snow ball!’

Time passed by unnoticed while the children played. With combined strength they managed to build the snowman so high it matched Marco’s height, and celebrated their victory with a snow war as great as the epic battles the minstrels sung about during festivals.

But their laughter was cut short by a sudden roar coming from what sounded like the castle wall itself. The wall was built thick and strong and sound barely ever travelled over it, so the screaming person must be somewhere on this side, still hidden from view.

‘For the sake of the Gods, come forth immediately!’ The order was soon followed by the woman commanding it, her plump form appearing from the white fog as she struggled with her skirts through the deep snow.

The boy froze where he sat beside Marco. ‘ _Shit_.’

Marco looked from him to the approaching woman, bemused. He had no idea who she was, or why she was charging towards them at such a furious speed. But there was no time for him to ask, even less to get a straight answer.

‘This is outrageous!’ she bellowed as she came closer, her eyes taking in the scene. Both Marco and the boy quickly rose to their feet, and when the woman sent the twins a furious glare, they leapt up like they’d been burned and ran to Marco’s side. He waved them behind him; their tiny hands clutched his clothes as they peeked around his legs at the angry ogre stomping through their best snow angels.

The woman reached out, almost as if she intended to hit someone. Marco reeled back, making sure he stayed between her and the twins. But she had no interest in either him or his siblings. Her hand grabbed hold of the other boy’s elbow, tugging him hard away from the group.

‘Ouch, that hurts!’ he complained and tried to shove her off him. But her fingers held him in an iron grip, her nostrils flaring as she dragged him back the way she had come, ignoring his protests.

‘Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable behaviour from a son of your family! I’ve been searching for you _for hours_. You ought to be happy the lord’s still out of the city, but your mother is fuming, let me assure you—’

By the time the boy tore himself free and stepped back towards them, Marco was staring with mouth hanging open, hardly believing his ears. It was… it was _the prince_. He knew there were three of them and had seen the two older ones a few brief times when they rode through the city with the duke. Their younger brother, though? He was nothing more than a name.

The prince glared at the woman, his earlier bright smile replaced by a defiant scowl. ‘You have no right to force me to come with you! I’m not done playing here yet, and will stay until _I_ choose to leave.’

‘It is not suitable for a prince to _play with the filth_!’ the woman hissed and sent the group such a fierce stare Marco backed away, pushing his siblings along behind him. Maria had scrambled up from the shadow of the snowman, now hiding by Marco’s shoulder instead.

‘They’re my friends!’

‘ _Friends_?’ She said it with a harsh laugh, shaking her head at the prince’s ridiculous suggestion. ‘That is absurd. What means of witchcraft have they performed to lure Your Highness to that conclusion?’

The prince opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped himself and turned his head to stare at them with wide eyes.

Cold dread seeped through Marco’s bones. He clasped his fingers around two trembling hands, holding them tight as he backed away again. No, no, not that. Anything but _that—_

‘They look awfully guilty,’ the woman pointed out and warded off evil with a frenetic gesture of her hand.

The prince frowned, considering, before facing towards her again. ‘I chose to come here by my own will. No one has bewitched me.’

‘That’s exactly what the spell would have made you think, Highness. The only way to prove me wrong is to come along back to the castle this instant. Otherwise, I’m forced to tell the guards about these devil’s children lurking so close to our walls.’

Marco couldn’t speak. His mouth was dry from fear, and the panic building in his chest threatened to explode any second. All he was able to do was stare back at the prince with pleading eyes, hoping he understood how important it was that he left now without further fuss. It took a long moment before the boy finally sighed in surrender, broke his eye contact with Marco and glared at the woman as he stomped in her direction. He only briefly glanced back, mumbling something that might have been a goodbye or an apology or maybe nothing at all.

When the odd pair went back to where they had come from, the prince refusing to step any closer to the court woman, the children stirred behind Marco’s stiff back. A moment later their mother’s voice called from the house, urging them to join her and father at the table. The twins managed with some struggle to get their fingers free from Marco’s cold grip, and then eagerly ran toward the door standing ajar, already back in their usual good mood.

Marco turned slowly and met Maria’s solemn eyes. She understood in a way the twins didn’t and he could tell that she was scared, despite her expressionless face. He wanted to reassure her, but he was still too shaken himself to get any words out.

‘Children!’ their mother called again, her thin figure appearing in the light of the doorway. ‘Come now!’

They shivered and hurried inside, away from the surrounding darkness.

When their parents heard of what had happened, they were concerned but told their children not to worry. Witchcraft was a serious crime and dangerous to be accused of, but despite the harsh laws people weren’t executed without a proper trial. At least not in this city.

Their words settled Maria into security, and she was eager to wolf down her part of the food.  But it took days before Marco could shake off the unease. The rest of the family thought they were all safe, but he knew that if he was ever to be brought to that kind of trial, innocence wouldn’t free him.

Afraid to worry his parents, Marco remained silent about the matter. He had kept it to himself for five months already and had no intention to tell anyone unless he was forced to. Luck was on his side this time, for no police appeared on their door step to either question or arrest him.

And as days became weeks, and weeks brought them deeper into the coldest months of winter, his secret stayed hidden in the dark of starless nights.

* * *

A layer of newly fallen snow graced the ground, so thin the grass and crumbled leaves still were visible underneath it. The sky had a greyish white colour, like the ceiling of a dome without edges and not even the tiniest crack of blue. Wind was brief, the naked tree branches still like in the paintings decorating the great halls. It was the beginning of winter, two years after their first meeting, and prince Jean was stomping across the courtyard, cursing vibrantly under his breath.

He had already thrown away the practice sword, hoping the sight of it so carelessly left in a bush would anger his fencing master enough to tell his father. It had been a while since they last argued, and he wouldn’t say no to an excuse to scream in the face of the man who’d sired him, but now only spoke to him if he had any complaints.

Jean kicked at a frozen sunflower sticking up from the ground, wishing nothing else than for a chance to get away. He felt trapped, the endless grey above not even broken off by passing birds. Nothing. This place was like a prison, and the wall did nothing but make him more frustrated. Winter was the worst season of them all; the snow isolated him inside the castle for five months with no way to escape the life he loathed.

He was a season away from his fifteenth birthday. So close to the age his older brothers had been when they were first accepted into the Council, and yet so far from the maturity needed to achieve such a position. At least according to his father. Not that Jean cared. He didn’t want to be kept inside every light hour of the day and had told his father as much when the topic was last brought up.

He wasn’t Alden, or Erick, and definitely not their father. Unfortunately, anything else was unacceptable.

Jean was rounding the east part of the castle at furious speed when he had to slow down not to run straight into Shadis having a heated conversation with a group of commoners. Well, the heat steamed mostly from the former captain; the man in front of him looked more pleading than angry, desperation making him bolder. Jean caught a few loose words from the discussion, ‘not enough time’ and ‘food for the children’ among them. He sighed. Shortage of food for the people was another reason to hate this season. Cursed snow.

‘You have a son that can do his part of the work!’ Shadis said with his intimidating voice, pointing straight at the tall boy standing behind the man. The boy’s shoulders tensed and a trace of guilt passed quickly across his face. There was a girl too, standing close to the boy; by the look of their dark hair, they were probably siblings.

Jean stopped abruptly. He was still far enough away to be able to slip by behind Shadis without being noticed, but the sight of the siblings sent a thrill of familiarity through him. Moving a bit closer, eyes squinting to see them better, he grew more and more certain he had met them before.

‘Both my son and daughter have helped, but we are not enough people to pull this off in time,’ the children’s father explained. ‘Not since both the other blacksmith and the apprentice were arrested last month—’

‘You are pushing your luck coming here after having those criminals in your house!’

‘I swear, sir, we did not know they were cursed!’

Jean’s tentative memories clicked into place. Of course! It _had_ to be them. He couldn’t stop the smile creeping through his sour mood. As silently as he could manage, he stepped closer, tilting his head in hopes to catch the boy’s eyes without drawing Shadis’ attention to himself. The sister saw him first, tugged at her brother’s arm and then nodded in his direction.

Their eyes locked and the dark-haired boy started in surprise. The girl frowned a little, matching her brother’s uncertainty. But when Jean offered them another grin, they both smiled back shyly.

The girl leaned in closer and the taller boy tilted his head to let her whisper something in his ear. Jean tried to read their expressions to guess what she said, but nothing in them gave anything away.

‘…please, either push back the deadline or find me more workers,’ the father concluded. Judging by his unimpressed face, Shadis wasn’t any more convinced than he had been when the discussion started.

‘This is your problem to solve, not mine,’ he announced. ‘It ought to teach you a lesson before you hire more scum. It is very simple, master Bodt; either you deliver what is commissioned on time, or the job will be handed to another, more professional blacksmith. Now leave before I set the guards on you!’

Shadis turned even before he had finished the sentence, then stopped dead when his eyes fell on Jean standing a few paces away. ‘Your Highness,’ he caught himself and bowed swiftly, the gesture a natural part of him after so many years in service at the court. ‘I did not see you, prince Jean. Forgive me.’

Jean gave a short nod, well aware that it was nothing but courteous manners. Unless he proved himself as worthy as his brothers, Shadis and others like him wouldn’t hold much more real respect for him than they did for the commoners just sent back home to starve. Those commoners, on the other hand, all three bent their heads with no trace of mockery. What was there instead was fear.

Jean never liked being feared.

He took a moment to collect himself, straightened his back and raised his chin higher, though Shadis still remained two intimidating heads above him. ‘I overheard something about starving children,’ he said, purposely phrasing it to annoy the court man. ‘I must be mistaken, but it seemed as if you just turned your back on that. Surely I am wrong?’

Shadis clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep the anger away from his voice. ‘I assure Your Highness, it is not at all that serious. Once you are part of the Council you will learn how often people complain about nothing.’

Jean repressed the urge to snap back at the insult; losing his head wasn’t what he’d had in mind for this. Instead, he turned to the man in need of help. ‘What is this about?’

The blacksmith looked from Jean to Shadis and back again, uncertainty written all over his face. Finally he focused on the prince, despite the strangeness of addressing a child younger than his own son with his problems, prince or not.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘my men and I have been working on a big commission for the court since weeks back, but as they both were arrested and taken away last month I will not be able to get it all done in time… and then we will not get paid. Sir, I have a family to feed, my children—’ He made a gesture to the two behind him, ‘—and two younger back home as well as my wife. We cannot afford to lose this job. We barely make it as it is...’

Jean looked past the man at the children, now noticing their worn clothes and how they both shivered in the cold, despite hugging themselves tightly. It made him feel self-conscious with his own warm cloak and belly full of food.

‘There must be _something_ we can do about that,’ Jean said, glancing at Shadis to see his angry expression deepen. ‘The least thing would be to make sure you have food while working on the commission.’

‘Your Highness, I do not think—’

‘ _What_ , Shadis? There is plenty of food to go around here, surely something can be spared for those who need it.’ Before the court man had a chance to disagree, Jean made the decision himself. ‘This family is to be given enough to last until they are paid for their work. See that it is done.’

‘Prince Jean, this is not how we handle things like these,’ Shadis hissed through clenched teeth.

‘ _See that it is done_ ,’ Jean repeated, giving the taller man a stern glare, daring him to disobey an order. Then he turned towards the blacksmith again, both him and his children watching them with wary eyes. ‘I will make sure this is arranged,’ Jean said, giving the family a content smile. ‘You can go home for now.’

Master Bodt didn’t look convinced, eyes trailing back to Shadis’s furious face even as he bowed his head and said, ’We cannot thank Your Highness enough.’

Jean let the victorious smile spread wider across his face as he looked at the former captain. Even if Levi didn’t complain to his father about the sword, Shadis was certain to make sure Jean got properly scolded for giving away food for free.

‘The lord will not approve of this,’ he muttered when he stepped up to Jean’s side.

Jean just glared back at him. ‘Tell me something new.’

The court man huffed and then stormed away in the direction of the entrance hall. Jean glanced after him before turning back towards the courtyard, finding that the family were almost by the wall already. Jean ran after them and reached the gate just in time to grab hold of the boy’s elbow and pull him back.

The startled boy turned with wide confused eyes, and Jean lost both words and breath as the closer view of his face burned itself into his memory. Freckles covered his cold, rosy cheeks, and the concerned, brown, _beautiful_ eyes were framed by long dark lashes blinking away small snowflakes caught on them. Jean remembered him, true, but no details. How he could have forgotten anything about this face was beyond him now. He stood there staring, fingers still curled into the sleeve of the taller boy’s clothes, for what might have been minutes, hours, years — or maybe just a few seconds.

‘What do I call you?’ he asked once his voice worked again, the question a bare whisper, only meant for the boy in front of him.

‘Marco?’ the man called from the other side of the gate, and Jean crashed back into reality. He stood in the gateway between his prison and the world he wanted, holding back a stranger from leaving and earning suspicious squints from the guards. The boy — Marco — looked quickly to his concerned father and sister before once again locking his eyes with Jean’s.

‘Marco, my lord,’ he mumbled, answering the question himself even though he didn’t have to.

‘ _Marco_... I—I’m Jean.’ The words were out before he could stop them and he winced at himself for stating the obvious.

A shy smile tugged at Marco’s lips, but it wasn’t teasing. It was kind. Understanding. ‘I know.’

One of the guards gave them a pointed cough, and Marco stepped away, his arm slipping out of Jean’s fingers. He bowed his head quickly, still backing out of the gate. ‘My lord,’ he said again, glancing up to meet Jean’s eyes one last time before he returned to his father and sister.

Jean watched them disappear around the small houses built closest to the wall, not stepping back inside until he got another cough from the guard.

Dust of snow swirled in the air. It was usually enough to make him moody, but now he didn’t notice it anymore. His thoughts were already far away, chasing vague dreams hiding in the corners of his small smile.

* * *

Winter might be isolating, but there were ways around everything, and Marco soon discovered that prince Jean made it his business that year to find each of them. He was beyond surprised, and a bit concerned, when the prince appeared on their doorstep one day, the air crisp and clear, and sky icy blue above.

‘I’m taking a walk through the city today, do you want to come with me?’ Jean asked as soon as Marco opened the door, not even starting with a greeting. His eager face fell just as fast when Marco didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm.

‘I… I don’t think that is a good idea, Your Highness.’ Marco frowned at him and closed the door a little to make sure his body covered Jean in case someone else passed by behind him. He wasn’t sure why it should be kept a secret, but something about the prince’s presence there felt so personal he didn’t want his parents or siblings to interfere.

At the same time, he was afraid. He didn’t dare think about what would happen if anyone from the castle found Jean there again, and that fear was stronger than the fluttering wings in his chest. Marco remained silent a moment longer, uncertain how to ask the prince to leave without offending him. ‘We are… not really suitable for your company, my lord.’

Jean scowled at him. ‘I don’t care,’ he said, shuddering a little from standing still in the cold. ‘And don’t call me that. I have a name.’

‘I—I’m sorry… Prince Jean.’

Jean rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘We’ll have to work on that,’ he muttered, then made a wide gesture with his arms. ‘I just want to exist without guards and nannies and teachers constantly breathing down my neck. I’ve wanted to see the city for so long, but… I don’t know my way around. So I thought, maybe you could help… I don’t know anyone else.’

Marco almost pointed out that Jean didn’t know him either, but caught himself and shut his mouth again. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no mischievous eight-year-olds were sneaking up on him having a very unorthodox conversation with a prince on the run from his duties. But the hall behind him was empty.

‘I could order you to,’ Jean said. The words formed a cold fist clenching Marco’s stomach, and when Jean saw his alarmed face, he quickly added, ‘But I mean, I won’t. I don’t want that. I’m just asking.’

Marco chewed on his lip, not realising he did so until he noticed how Jean’s eyes zeroed in on his mouth. Embarrassed, he stopped. ‘I can’t… I’m sorry. I have work.’

Jean blinked and looked back up to meet Marco’s eyes. ‘O-oh… right. Of course.’

This had to be the end of it. Marco should simply excuse himself and close the door and hope for everyone’s safety that the prince wouldn’t come back. But the very thought of not seeing Jean again made him… sad. Unreasonably so. It was ridiculous to feel that way and he should push away from it instead of venturing further while he still had the chance. Jean was a _prince_. There would come _nothing_ good from this.

Yet he found himself saying, ‘We can decide another day, though. If Your Highness wants to?’ and the way Jean’s face lit up again made all future distress worth it.

The long winter passed like that. They walked the streets of the city, old ones that Marco knew well, and new they discovered together. They watched the bustling life of the marketplaces, and the stillness of the starlit night sky spread like a blanket over the world. Marco learned that Jean loved the stars, how endless the universe was. How tiny and insignificant it made everyone, most of all himself. Marco didn’t quite understand that; he wanted to be important, to be needed, to be able to change things for the better. But as he silently watched how happy it made Jean to be part of the masses, he wondered if it was different for someone forced into such a position by their birth. Maybe then it was a relief to be nothing but another drop in the vastness of the ocean.

A month from Jean’s fifteenth birthday, when other parts of the country were blooming in spring, their highland city still lay under its deep cover of snow. Jean suggested they should venture outside into the forest, and when Marco objected he used his upcoming celebration as an argument. ‘I only wish one thing, Marco,’ he said, ‘and that’s for you to follow me out there today.’

Marco sighed, knowing he was being too nice, but at the same time not caring. He didn’t have the means to give Jean anything else, and it was of more importance to him than it probably should to be able to do at least one thing the prince asked of him.

The weather was much the same as it had been when Jean first knocked on their door; blue sky clear and sun shining through the cold, crisp air. A beautiful day.

They followed the riverbanks through the white landscape, tree branches heavy with snow and the mountains sharp against the bright sky. The warm light reflected in the thick river ice made it look like a golden path through the Heavens.

Marco kept himself on land, cautiously eyeing the ice when Jean slid farther out on it. ‘We should keep on the side,’ he said, but Jean just waved his concern away. ‘Jean, you shouldn’t—’

‘Marcooo,’ the prince whined. ‘It’s _fine_.’

‘But what if it breaks?’ Marco insisted, still not stepping away from the safety of the bank.

‘It won’t. Come on now, I’ll race you to the other side!’ Jean set off across the broad frozen river, swaying and chuckling as his feet and flailing arms tried to hold him upright as he moved.

Marco stepped slowly out on the ice, careful and tense not to let himself lose his balance. It might be as thick as Jean claimed, but the thought of the deep water underneath still made Marco’s stomach churn. Looking up at Jean skidding in the middle of the river, he wondered if princes were taught how to swim, and if that skill would be of any use if the water was so cold their limbs froze within seconds.

‘Jean…’ he tried again, earning only a dismissive wave in reply.

Snow and ice glittered in the sun, and winter birds were singing among the trees. Everything was so peaceful, and yet Marco’s unease only grew stronger with each tentative step he took. The anxiety building in his chest was familiar, and the memories of what it might cause made him even more nervous. He couldn’t allow himself to lose control, not here. Definitely not here.

Jean had abandoned his one-man race and now skated around in wide uneven circles waiting for Marco to catch up. Sometimes he watched Marco’s slow progress, urging him on, but Marco didn’t hear him. His eyes were staring at the ice below his feet, his mind elsewhere.

It had gotten easier back home when another blacksmith was finally found and hired, and the heavy pressure on his father’s shoulders lessened somewhat. Marco’s help was still needed, though, but he wasn’t always able to be as much assistance as he wanted. When he spent too much time in the heat of the smithy, it built up pressure in his chest he didn’t know how to control. More than one fiery accident had been triggered by this stress. The first time it revealed his long kept secret to his parents; the latest to the new blacksmith. But they were lucky, for Reiner didn’t hesitate before he swore not to tell anyone. After that, the man made sure to take over in time when he noticed the signs of Marco’s discomfort, sending him away before another accident happened.

But there was no heat out here. It was cold, freezing. The only fire within miles was the one catching and spreading inside Marco’s chest. He stared at the ice, sensing it break despite how thick it was, and in a sudden alarmed moment, he realised his fear might be what caused it.

‘Um… Jean…’ He managed to tear his eyes from the ground to search for the prince, but he was too far away to have heard. ‘Jean!’

It happened so fast Marco’s yell drowned in the loud roar of the ice breaking beneath their feet. Jean turned with a wide-eyed stare over his shoulder, shock and disbelief screaming from his pale face. His gaze found Marco’s, the panic visibly growing when he realised how far apart they were; he staggered backwards on the slippery surface to get away from the lightning-like cracks, but he was too slow,  _far too slow._

Marco didn’t have time to think. His body moved of its own accord, using all his might to get himself to Jean’s side before either of them fell into the water. He did so just in time, grabbed hold of Jean’s clothes and pushed away from the danger with such force Jean lost his balance. Marco staggered to a halt a few paces away from him, so exhausted he too almost fell over.

With some difficulty, and gritting his teeth around a string of curses, Jean managed to get back on his feet. When Marco looked up, he saw that the prince’s left ankle was bent a little strangely.

‘Jean!’ Marco forced himself to steady, taking the steps that separated them. ‘Jean, are you—’

He stopped dead and silent in front of the other boy. Jean stared at the smoking holes in his cloak, the edges still glowing and spreading wider as the cloth fell away in ashes. With frenetic arms he tore it off himself before the fire caught in his other clothes as well, and threw it away from him. Bewildered and panting he looked up at Marco, who still stood frozen in place, and Jean’s eyes widened when he saw the steam rising from Marco’s outstretched hands. As the pieces of the puzzle fell together in his head, his confusion was replaced by fear.

Marco could barely breathe. ‘Jean,’ he pleaded, taking another step towards him but stopped again when the prince threw up his own hands between them, leaning back.

‘No, no! Stay away—keep away from me!’ Jean backed too fast for his injured ankle to hold him up and he fell again. The sharp ice tore his knee bloody and he hissed in pain through his teeth. It didn’t stop him though; he kept pushing away on his back, dragging the injured leg over the ice. His lips were trembling as they moved around the soundless words that followed; dangerous accusations Marco had just proved to be true, to be deserved.

Jean knew now. The lord and lady would find out, the city police and the church — they all would know, and Marco had nothing else to await than being arrested and executed for crimes he committed by simply existing.

 _Think about the risks!_ His father’s voice echoed in his head, tight with anger and fear. It was a fragment of a memory from when the blacksmith had opened the door and found the prince waiting for his son outside their house. The naive and spoiled child who had promised them food they never got; the lying, selfish noble he never understood why Marco was so quick to defend.

 _What if he finds out about you?_ His mother tried to sound stern but her worry shone through far too visible for that to succeed. _He’d turn you in before you could blink!_

_No, it’s not only about you, Marco! What do you think will happen to your siblings if the police finds out about you?_

_They can’t be trusted, people who sit back on their treasures while others starve in front of them._

_You can’t trust him._

But Marco had trusted him. Not completely, no, but he’d let his guard fall more each time they met, and now he stood shaking in front of Jean, smoke still trailing from his trembling hands and his life line laid out between them ready to be cut short if Jean decided to use the knife he’d been given. Marco wanted so badly to trust him now. But the look of utter horror on Jean’s face made even the smallest hope for understanding quickly slip through his fingers.

He stared down at Jean’s injured leg. It wasn’t bleeding much, but the ankle was clearly strained, and Jean winched each time he tried to move it (away, away, away from Marco), teeth clenched in pain. He was in no state to stop Marco if he simply tried to leave. Marco could run for it, hurry home and tell his family and make sure they all got away to safety before Jean had a chance to send the guards on them.

But he might not be able to get back on his own at all. Even if he did manage to walk, the cloak was burnt, and he was already shaking from the cold. Marco couldn’t just leave him there.

He couldn’t just…

_He couldn’t._

‘Please,’ he whispered, tears finally flooding over and rushing down his cheeks. ‘Please don’t tell anyone, I beg of you…’ Marco sagged to his knees, hugging himself tightly and hid his shaking hands inside the cloak. ‘I swear I would never hurt anyone… I don’t use it, I didn’t mean for this to happen… I—I…’

He thought about his family. Maria and the twins and their hardworking parents. They’d be punished too, because you inherited the curse through blood and if he had it, it must have come from somewhere. Even if they were allowed to live, people would be too scared and disgusted to make any business with them. It had been hard enough after the arrest of his father’s workers last fall.

‘Please, my lord, I will do anything, just… just p-please don’t…’

Marco didn’t notice how Jean got up on his feet and limped back to where Marco was sobbing on the ground, nor how he managed to sit down again with an ugly grimace twisting his face from trying to move without hurting too much. And then Jean was pulling at Marco’s wrists, silent but determined to get his hands out from the way he’d curled his arms around his stomach. He pulled off the burnt gloves, revealing Marco’s bleeding fingers.

‘It hurts you holding back,’ he stated. ‘You have to learn to control it, not… try to keep it locked inside of you.’

‘Wh-what?’

‘Or it will explode when you least want it to.’

Marco stared at Jean through the tears with his mouth hanging open, hardly believing his ears. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on — all he knew was that Jean was beside him again, touching him, and not backing away in disgust or fear.

Jean looked down, his eyes back on Marco’s hands. ‘I’m sorry I panicked,’ he mumbled, removing his own gloves to better be able to peel the cloth off Marco’s burns. ‘I didn’t mean…’ He fell silent, chewing on his lower lip, before meeting Marco’s gaze again. ‘You don’t have to do anything. I’m not telling anyone.’

Such immense relief replaced the panic that Marco burst into new tears. Too overwhelmed to stop himself he leaned into Jean, his sobbed ‘Thank you’s muffled by Jean’s shoulder. Jean wrapped his arm around him and patted his back reassuringly, murmuring apologies until Marco regained enough of his composure to straighten up again.

He wiped the tears from his cheeks and looked down at Jean’s bleeding knee. ‘I’m sorry about your leg.’

‘Yes, well, I would be at the bottom of the river right now if it wasn’t for you so…’ Jean laughed dryly. ‘I think I can manage.’

Marco glanced towards the broken ice, shameful and aware of the truth, but not daring to tell Jean about his thoughts. ‘I can fix some of it,’ he said instead, careful. Jean gave him a sceptical look, fear flashing by in his eyes. But it was all right to be scared. Marco had been too — still was. Terrified. But he knew he could manage what he had just offered. ‘It’s the only thing I really know how to do,’ he explained and held his bloody palms up for Jean to see. ‘I’ve had a lot of practise.’

Jean still looked unsure, but his expression changed to amazement when Marco’s hands healed before their eyes. Gaping, he ran his fingers over the skin, opening and closing his mouth around soundless words. ‘Incredible’ he finally whispered.

Marco nodded and sighed. ‘I just wish I knew how to turn all the destruction I cause into something like this instead, but I… I don’t.’

Jean patted Marco’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. ‘You’ll get there.’ He moved his leg slightly, frowning down at it as he considered if he dared to let Marco use the magic on him too. Then finally he met Marco’s waiting eyes again and gave a short nod.

Marco pressed gentle fingers to the knee, concentrating to focus the energy he had left on the task at hand. It was different from healing his own skin, but the cut was shallow and knitted together without problems.

Jean inhaled sharply through his nose at the sensation. Marco hesitated to make sure he was all right; it shouldn’t hurt too much, at least according to his sister, but it still was a peculiar feeling. Despite this, Jean looked on with curious eyes, and once it was done he brushed his fingers over the tiny mark left where the magic had done its wonder. He squinted to see better, but seemed none the wiser.

‘It’s the Sign of Eri,’ Marco told him, referring to the Goddess of Medicine. ‘I heard a priest once who claimed people like me taint the signs of the Gods to mock them. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve never meant for any signs to appear. They just do.’

A moment of silence passed between them. Jean scowled, but said nothing to clarify why. Instead he bent his healed knee a little and winced at his ankle.

Marco bit his lip. ‘If it’s sprained I don’t think I can fix it,’ he said moving closer to the foot. ‘Maybe it would be better to let the priests do their job.’

‘I trust you.’

There was no hesitation before the words came out, and Marco’s eyes snapped back up to meet Jean’s, finding his gaze steady, certain. ‘I…’ he started, then bent his neck to hide the blush spreading over his cheeks. ‘Thank you. I—I appreciate that, but it’s just... I’m not sure what I’m doing when it comes to this. I don’t want to make it worse.’

Jean glared at his foot, but didn’t push it. ‘I can barely walk though…’

‘You can lean on me. And… _oh_!’ Marco got up on his feet, pulling the cloak off himself in the same movement, and gave it to Jean. ‘Take this.’

‘What? No, Marco—’

‘I ruined yours. It’s the least I can do, all right? And you’re injured, you have to keep warm.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Jean muttered, but shivering as he was he still wrapped it over his shoulders before forcing himself back up on his feet.

Marco stood ready, holding out his hands to steady him. Once his arm rested over Marco’s shoulders, and Marco’s was secured around his waist, they took a few trying steps towards the closest bank, opposite the one they had come from.

Their sides pressed together from shoulders to thighs, and Marco couldn’t help but notice how Jean fell more into him each time they moved. He scolded himself for thinking about it, and tried hard to focus on something else, but that proved to be impossible. Especially when Jean looked up at him again. He was still scowling, brow creased in annoyance to cover the pain. But his eyes alone were enough to steal the air from Marco’s lungs, and Marco desperately hoped he couldn’t read his mind.

They were _so close_.

Jean stared back at him for a moment before quickly turning away. ‘Anyway, ehh,’ he said, watching the ground ahead instead as they continued their unsteady walk. ‘It was Levi who — my fencing master, I mean — he said that thing about learning to control it. I guess he did so in case I was hiding any magical abilities, but since I wasn’t he didn’t say much more about it. He seemed to know what he’s talking about, although I’ve never seen any signs of him being cursed— err… eh… I—I mean, it’s called that, I don’t think—’

‘It’s a lot like a curse, though,’ Marco said, smiling a little despite himself. He leaned them to the side to stop Jean from stumbling over a branch sticking out of the snow. ‘At least with these laws making it so.’

Jean hummed in understanding. ‘What I mean to say is that he might be able to help.’

‘You mean you’d tell him?’ Marco tried not to be afraid. But the idea was terrifying, and despite his best efforts to hide it, Jean read the truth from his face.

‘Not outright, I wouldn’t!’  He frowned and stopped, turning so he faced Marco directly when he added, ‘You can trust me too, Marco. I’m not going to put you in any danger.’

Yet again his parents’ words echoed in his head, and even though Marco understood that their concern was valid after hundreds of years of nobility mistreating the people, he also knew they weren’t always right. They weren’t right when they predicted rain on his eleventh birthday, or claimed that a strange foreign food they’d tasted on the marketplace never would be popular in their household.

And they weren’t right about Jean.

So he nodded, slowly at first but then more certain. When he looked up and Jean smiled at him, the warmth that spread in his chest was nothing like the heat from earlier. This made him calm.

‘Funny how you turned out to be a witch after all,’ Jean said, smile turning into a smirk. ‘Or… well, maybe not _funny_ …’

Part of Marco wanted nothing else than to run away from those words, but instead he found himself laughing; a light, soaring sound that joined the warmth inside him and pushed the last traces of fear away.

It would be all right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ”The rest should be up within a month or so,” I said. Well, about that… 
> 
> But here’s chapter two at least, and I’ll try to get the last one done as soon as possible. I hope you enjoy this, and again, it would be lovely to hear what you think! :D

Jean hurried across the street, eager to get away from the gate before the crowd thinned out and the guards noticed him going. He was far from done with his lectures, but when an opportunity to escape presented itself he wasn’t going to let it pass by untaken. Especially not when he knew Marco would be home today.

Deep snow glittered in the sunlight. It was already past midday and dark would soon fall again, but for a while more the day was bright. Darkness didn’t bother him, though. There was something magical about winter nights, and the past months Jean had grown very interested in everything connected to magic — literal or not. It reminded him of Marco. Made him smile even during the dullest of days. So when the first snowflakes of the season had fallen outside his window this year, he was happy to greet them.

Head still full of old runes and their meaning, Jean slipped into the now familiar side street leading to Marco’s house. Yet again he had stayed up late reading, despite his elders’ disapproval. He just couldn’t stay away. There was so much to learn; so much hidden knowledge in crammed old bookshelves, so much _magic_ right under the noses of the people who despised it most.

 _The first thing you must learn is that magic isn’t a curse. Never was. It’s the ignorance of people that is_.

The witch had watched them both; Marco first, as to assure him, and then at the last part they had turned their pointed stare at Jean. Their eyes gleamed with amusement and hidden secrets, sensing curiosity and silent awe in their guests. Jean stared back, his own eyes transfixed by the black runes tattooed on the witch’s skin. Ancient marks covered their arms like sleeves, every detail holding its own meaning and power. They were beautiful all on their own, but what made them even more amazing was that the lines moved slightly when the witch worked their magic. Pulsing, vibrating, _alive_. Jean had prodded Levi to tell him all he knew about this kind of magic for days afterwards, but in the end Marco was the one who answered his curious questions.

Hanji was a master of their craft, a witch from schools in the southern lands. There magic wasn’t punished by death, but encouraged to flourish and spread. When asked why they had left that safety, Hanji said their skills were needed elsewhere.

Jean had scoffed at that cryptic answer, but he couldn’t deny that the truth in it still was apparent; Hanji’s presence and the knowledge they possessed helped Marco’s anxiety turn into curiosity.  During the past eight months Marco had eagerly told Jean about the things he learned, turning up-side-down on fifteen years’ worth of false claims about magic’s wickedness. And Jean, in his turn, drank it all up like the freshest water.

He could listen to Marco for hours, days if possible. It made him so happy to see the way Marco’s face lit up, the wide gestures he made with his hands to illustrate what he meant, how his shyness melted away when he was comfortable in his own excitement. Jean had liked Marco all along and he knew he probably enjoyed his company more than he should. But watching him come alive like that, bursting with such energy, something _more_ carved a space for itself deep in Jean’s chest. It took root there and flourished and deepened before he had time to understand what had happened. He still wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was certain the feeling wasn’t going away; he always looked forward to their meetings with a now familiar ache, and when they were together time ran far too fast.

Summer had had its advantages, with longer days and no snow blocking the way. But Marco spent a lot of time outside the city, and although sneaking out to the forest was one of Jean’s favourite activities, he wasn’t able to do so as much as he wanted. Besides, Marco had a lot of work to do. Learning from Hanji when away and assisting his father when at home. His family was hard-pressed as it was already because of Marco’s absence; no one appreciated Jean stealing his time too.

Jean was well aware of this, but that didn’t stop him from asking for it.

Marco’s sister opened the door. She made a curtsy with head bowed, mumbling, ‘my lord,’ so silently he had to read it from her lips. He just nodded, always awkward around her silent being. But she was better than any of their parents; neither mother nor father dared ask Jean to leave, but he saw in their eyes that they didn’t like how he kept coming there.

‘Who is it, Maria?’ the father’s voice came from a room farther in. He appeared in sight a moment later, eyes locking with Jean’s from a gaunt face that used to be strong. He tensed, unspoken words weighing heavily on his shoulders. Jean opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all ideas left him standing in awkward silence.

He was saved from it by Marco appearing beside them, his expression lighting up when he saw Jean waiting there. He disappeared again to get his cloak, but when he hurried past his father his arm was pulled back. The blacksmith’s brows furrowed in concern; Jean didn’t see Marco’s face because he had turned towards his father, but the desperation growing in master Bodt’s said enough. Not quite disapproving, but it was clear he didn’t want Marco to leave.

The silent exchange between them ended with Marco turning away, quickly forcing the frown from his own expression, but not fast enough for Jean not to notice. His sister stepped aside without a word to let him pass through the door, and he met Jean with a wide smile.

‘Hello,’ he said, ignored the lingering looks he got from inside and pushed the door closed behind him.

‘H-hi,’ Jean replied, cursing in silence at his voice cracking and hoping the embarrassment didn’t show on his face. Marco didn’t comment though, didn’t tease.

‘So… um, you want to go?’ Marco peered at him, tilting his head in the direction they should take. ‘Outside?’

‘The wall?’

Marco nodded, biting his lip with an excited smile. ‘If you have time? I know a place. It’s not so far away from Hanji so I figured we could go there and… well we can maybe stay at theirs tonight if it gets late. If… if you think you can be away for that long?’

Jean’s grin widened. ‘I’m already out so no need to think about that now. I’ll stay as long as I want.’

Marco let out a delighted little laugh and then blushed at the sound of it. But Jean just smiled back and gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. Marco’s happiness was so beautiful and shining; he’d be glad to stand there and bask in its light for the rest of the day.

Marco tugged at his arm to lead him down the street, and Jean followed without resistance. Dusk was falling, the sky painted pale pink over the horizon. It spread and deepened as they moved through the city, sunlight burning golden lines along the edges of the world.

Jean’s eyes wandered over what they passed, but his attention was elsewhere. Marco’s fingers still clutched his wrist, making sure they stayed close together. There really was no need for it; the streets were busy but didn’t have enough people around for them to lose each other in the masses. And Jean knew the way well by now. Should they against all odds be separated, he’d find the gate on his own.

He didn’t say anything, though. Not when Marco’s thumb brushed absent-minded circles into the back of his hand as they walked. Jean tried not to think about it, but such a small touch was enough to quicken his pulse and make that hidden spot in his chest grow a little bigger. Wondering how it would feel without the fabric between their skin, he stole a secret glance down at their hands — and found Marco’s bare.

He stopped. ‘You’re not wearing any gloves,’ he said and Marco immediately removed his fingers from Jean’s arm. ‘It’s cold. Aren’t you freezing?’

Marco fidgeted with his hands before he hid them inside his worn cloak; he wasn’t meeting Jean’s eyes. ‘It’s nothing,’ he mumbled, but Jean had seen the hand shake as he let go of him and he had no intention to take Marco’s bait to forget about it. Instead he took off his left glove and handed it to Marco, who shook his head. ‘Jean, don’t… it’s all right, truly.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Just take the glove and put it on.’

When Marco kept hesitating, Jean grabbed his arm and pulled it on by himself, ignoring Marco’s bothered expression. Then he took Marco’s bare hand in his own, squeezing as much warmth as he could into the icy fingers. ’We’ll change hands later, all right?’

Jean gave Marco a smirk in response to his surprised look at their joined hands. His long lashes brushed the freckles, and a tiny smile accompanied the faint blush that spread over his cheeks. Gods, he was so _beautiful_ . Everything about him. The soft features and round nose that Jean had an unexplained urge to nudge with the tip of his own — but of course never had a good enough excuse for. The kindness and respect and _love_ he offered to all around him that he considered deserving of it, which seemed to be almost everyone. The brightness in his pretty brown eyes when he glanced up again, waking Jean from his mesmerised stare.

Embarrassed Jean looked away, shaking the no doubt ridiculous expression from his face and hoped Marco hadn’t seen it. Then he hurried on down the street without letting go of Marco’s hand.

They arrived at the gate and passed through it without any problem. There were enough people out for Jean to melt in despite his fancier clothes, and if anyone found him strange, they didn’t say.

Their fingers were freezing by the time they reached the first trees of the forest. Jean knew the best solution would have been to give Marco both gloves and warm his own hands in his cloak. He pushed the thought away, though, figuring that if he didn’t think about it he didn’t have to answer for how cold they were. The truth was, however, that ice blue fingers were worth it if it meant they were entwined with Marco’s.

And anyway, Marco didn’t complain either, did he? Not that he was likely to ask for both gloves, but that was beside the point.

‘Maybe we should change hand now.’ Jean didn’t even finish the suggestion before Marco let go of his hold. He quickly pulled the glove off and gave it back to Jean, refusing to take the one offered to him in exchange.

‘It’s all right, Jean. It’s getting dark and I have to lead the way and make sure we don’t step somewhere wrong. I have the cloak.’

Jean gave him a sour look. He was so close to pointing out none of that stopped them from holding hands, but he forced the words back. How could he express that without sounding weird anyway? Instead he sighed, handing the gloves back to Marco. ‘At least you take both then, my cloak’s warmer than yours.’

As always, Marco hesitated, but the cold won and he accepted them with a small smile. Then he stepped away, turning his eyes to the side. This behaviour was nothing new, and except for a frown Jean let the new distance between them be without question.

It still stung, though. Disappointment tore icy through the swelling warmth in his chest, and he glared daggers at the ground as they walked on. This kept happening. Whenever things were good and it felt like his heart would explode and he’d welcome it, Marco suddenly stepped away. They could be leaning on each other, and the next moment Marco only gave short, reserved answers to Jean’s attempts to keep the conversation going. Jean didn’t know why. When the tension passed as it always did after a while, he brushed the concern away. But in the very moment when Marco tensed up and avoided his eyes, the disturbing thought came back to gnaw inside his head. Marco didn’t want to be there. He had other things to do, more important people to spend his time with. Jean only had his attention because Marco was too nice to turn him down.

Perhaps Marco’s parents silently judging him was deserved after all.

Jean was still bitter when they finally reached the glade Marco had intended to get them to.

‘It’s really beautiful out here when the sky’s clear and all the stars can be seen,’ Marco said, eyeing the darkness of the clouds far above them. ‘But it’s snowing, so that’s nice too. Means I can show you something I learned recently.’

‘Mhm?’ Jean muttered, kicking aimlessly at the snow. ‘What’s that?’

Marco’s smile faltered. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Everything’s fine.’

‘I… Are you sure? I’m sorry if I—’ Marco’s eyes widened, and he quickly took off the gloves to give them back.

Jean sighed again and put them away inside his cloak. ‘It’s _fine_. Are you going to show me or not?’

Marco didn’t move for a moment, only chewed on his lip and stared around over the ground before cautiously returning his eyes to Jean. But then he shrugged as to shake it off him and his smile was back to normal.

‘I’m just really eager to show you but I’m nervous it won’t work, you know how it is. Works perfectly when no one sees and then…’ He made a falling gesture with his arms.

‘You’ll do great, Marco.’ Jean did his best to kick his bruised feelings away and nudged his elbow into Marco’s side. ‘You always show me such incredible things. Hanji’s been teaching you well.’

‘Yes… about Hanji I mean.’ He chuckled and rubbed his nose. ‘Speaking of that, they made me another tattoo last week.’ He illustrated the pattern with his fingers. ‘Swirling along the big one, making the energy flow smoother. It’s helped a lot.’

‘Oh?’ Jean’s grin widened as he traced his own hands up Marco’s tunic sleeve, imagining the magic hidden underneath the cloth. ‘That sounds great!’

During summer, Marco had gotten the first tattoos channelling the energy from the source in his chest out to his hands. When Jean found out he bluntly asked to see them before he had time to think better of it. Marco had let him, although hesitant and embarrassed. But his red, sun-kissed cheeks had been nothing compared to the inferno burning from Jean’s face. He hadn’t been able to meet Marco’s eyes again for the rest of the day, telling himself it was because the question had turned out a lot more awkward than intended. While that was true, it wasn’t the only reason. What _really_ turned Jean into the stuttering mess he had become, was that Marco proved to be ridiculously handsome without a shirt on, and Jean had a hard time trying not to be weird about that.

‘If it doesn’t work the way you want the first time, just try again,’ Jean said when Marco still frowned over whatever he planned to do.

‘Yes, but… it’s not as exciting if it doesn’t work right away.’

‘You want me to close my eyes?’

Marco nodded, and Jean did as he had suggested. A long moment passed without anything happening. The only sounds came from Marco moving around and cursing under his breath when something went wrong. Then finally he whispered, ‘You can look now.’

Blinking against a peculiar light coming from somewhere beside him, Jean squinted around to find Marco. He was standing a few steps away, hands held out in front of him with the palms facing up, surrounded by the increasing snowfall.

Jean frowned, uncertain how to tell him that he had no idea what Marco was doing. But then he saw it, and his mouth fell open in silent wonder.

The snowflakes glowed blue and bright as they fell, sparkling like stars and constellations the closer they got to the light in Marco’s hands. Jean swirled on the spot, staring at the magical rain of silver falling over the meadow. ‘This… Marco! This is _amazing_!’

Marco laughed a little, content and excited he had succeeded with his plan. Jean stepped closer to him, still with his eyes turned upwards. It was as if the night sky had moved down from behind the clouds, surrounding them with millions of stars and their twinkling light increasing as Marco grew more certain of what he was doing. The snowfall seemed to slow, the illusion almost freezing the universe in the air around them. It was stunning. Like being part of the infinity of it. But _better_ , because this was _Marco_ , and he was doing it all for Jean.

Jean grasped Marco’s arm and shoulder, leaning closer and looking with wonder at the magic dancing in Marco’s hands. All around them. It was the most incredible thing he had ever seen, and yet he found his gaze shift from the magic to the one creating it. The bluish light licked Marco’s freckles and gave his dark eyes a shining gleam. His smile was bright and lovely, so filled with happiness Jean felt his heart swell simply from seeing it. He rested his chin on Marco’s shoulder, unable to tear his stare from his face.

‘It’s pretty incredible, right?’ Marco smiled.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Jean answered, voice soft. Marco shifted a little and turned his head just in time to see where Jean was looking when he added, ‘The most beautiful I’ve ever seen.’

They were so close their noses brushed. Marco’s eyes widened as he stared at Jean in surprise, and Jean couldn’t tell if it was in a positive way or not. He opened and closed his mouth in silence until he finally managed a faint, uncertain, ‘My lord?’

The illusion broke like shattering glass smashed against Jean’s face; the sky with all the stars hidden behind the clouds crashing down with full force. More than a year had passed and Marco _still_ went back to that title when he got anxious. As if he thought he was only allowed to use Jean’s name when everything was certain. As if he still feared the hold Jean’s position might take over him.

It made Jean’s stomach churn.

‘You… you don’t have to stay here,’ he said, swallowing hard and leaning away, but unable to get his feet to take the step with him. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t abuse my power if you were to step away, from anything. I know you have so little time over and… I—I don’t want you to meet me only because you think you have to…’

The lump in his throat grew bigger, making it harder to get the words out without his voice breaking. But he couldn’t stop yet, he had to make sure Marco understood. ‘I’m… I’m your friend, first of all, all right? Before everything else, before titles and power and secrets and all of that — I’m your friend. Always. Even if I’m pissed off or you’re not doing what I want you to do and…’ He held Marco’s eyes with a concerned frown, hoping he sounded as sincere as he meant to. ‘Please never do anything I want just because you think I’d get you punished if you didn’t. Please never think that at all… Please don’t… call me _that_ as if I have the right to step on you because I was born in a castle and you weren’t.’

Marco cast his gaze to the ground. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way…’

‘You don’t have to apologise. But I don’t want you to be afraid of me.’

‘I’m not. I’m not afraid of you, I promise.’ Marco’s stare was intense when he looked up, his eyes wide again but filled with something else this time. ‘I didn’t… I don’t say it to seem like that, it’s on the contrary really. I’m too comfortable with you and then sometimes I have to remind myself that you… I mean that I… I can’t…’

The already pink tint beneath his freckles caused by the cold deepened visibly, and flustered he hid his face in his hands.

Jean stared at him with mouth hanging open. He grabbed hold of Marco’s hands, forcing them down between them. ‘What,’ he managed finally. ‘What do you mean, “too comfortable”? How can you be _too comfortable_ with me? What is it you can’t do?’

Marco didn’t answer. He just stared down at his hands clutched in Jean’s, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

‘There is _nothing_ you can’t do with me because I’m a prince, why would you even think that?’ Jean squeezed his hands reassuringly, pouring as much cheer into his voice as he could. ‘Whatever it is you want to do, we can do that now, all right? Just tell me what it is.’

Marco finally looked up again, but he wasn’t smiling. ‘I doubt that’s a good idea.’

‘ _Marcooo_ ,’ Jean groaned. ‘What’s the worst thing that could happen? I promise I won’t make faces or laugh at you or anything. If I do, then hit me. Repeatedly.’ He caught a glimpse of a faint smile before he closed his eyes and swayed backwards on his heels, throwing his arms out in the still falling snow to keep his balance. He felt ridiculous, but if it helped Marco’s mood he was okay with being a little silly. ‘Whatever it is you want to do — do it.’

Jean didn’t expect his weight to be pulled back to his toes by Marco taking his cheeks in his cold hands, and even less expected to open his eyes to Marco’s tilted face so close to his their lips almost touched. He watched Jean hesitantly, waiting for his reaction in tense silence. Jean just stared back at him, breath catching in his throat and brain melting out of his ears from the heat rising in his face.

_So close. So so so close._

After ages or seconds, Jean tilted his head up a little more and Marco closed the small gap between them, pressing soft lips to Jean’s. It was so gentle, so brief, only a brush of a kiss. But when the contact disappeared and Marco stepped back, something much bigger had been ripped out of Jean’s chest with him.

Marco hugged himself and avoided meeting Jean’s eyes; he looked ready to run away when Jean managed a stammering, ‘So… that’s what you…?’

He tried to sound casual but didn’t manage to stop the shaky rise at the end. Marco shrugged, though the rest of him was all else than indifferent. He stared hard at the deep snow beneath them and his cheeks still burned in embarrassment.

Jean opened and closed his mouth without getting any words out, before he stepped forward the distance Marco had left between them. His intentions weren’t clear even to himself, but he knew for sure that standing only a step apart was too much.

‘We can, we can do that… if you want,’ he said, wetting his lips with his tongue, the faint taste of the other boy still lingering. _Please do that again_.

Marco finally looked up at him, eyes wider than ever before. ‘ _What?_ ’

‘I’d like to do that … again.’ Jean leaned closer, focus darting from Marco’s eyes to his lips forming soundless questions. He intended to do it the way Marco had; leaning closer and waiting for him to meet him halfway. But instead he was pushed backwards by Marco’s hands on his shoulders. His eyes snapped open again with a frustrated scowl. ‘What? You said you wanted to—’

‘Why?’ Marco interrupted. There were mixed emotions in his eyes, a hopeful gleam flashing by for a second before it drowned in badly concealed hurt. ‘Why do you…?’

‘Why do you think?’ Jean interrupted as the realisation hit him. How could Marco _not_ see it? All of his own confusing feelings suddenly made perfect sense, and it was almost ridiculous how obvious they were. ‘I _like you_ too!’

 _A lot_. In fact, that barely began to cover how he felt, but it was a start. However, Marco’s frozen expression quickly wiped away Jean’s eager grin, and he shut his mouth again, scared he had assumed too much.

‘I—I mean,’ he managed to get out after a moment of awkward silence, cheeks burning. ‘You do like me, right? That’s why you... k-kissed me...?’

Marco still looked uncertain, gaze searching for answers in the snow. ‘Well… _yes_. O-of course I do.’

Jean’s heart fluttered. _Of course_.

‘I just... I didn’t think you’d... I—I’m nothing much, and you…’ He looked at Jean helplessly, before dropping his gaze again. ‘I didn’t want to hope for something that can’t be.’

‘ _Marco_.’ Jean leaned forward, catching Marco’s downcast eyes again. ‘You’re incredible. I didn’t know you felt like this, damn it, sometimes I’m scared you don’t actually want to be with me at all.’

‘I would spend every day with you if I could,’ Marco whispered. He bit his lip around a shy smile, blush deepening again. But this time he didn’t try to hide it.

Stuttering, Jean broke their eye contact, his face hot. Instead he stared at Marco’s smile. Thought about how it felt to kiss him. How much he wanted to do it again. And before his better judgement caught up with him, he moved closer, too fast, and ended up smacking their noses together.

‘ _Ouch_ … _damn_!’ Jean rubbed his nose with his fingers, too embarrassed to look up. Marco chuckled softly and with gentle hands tilted Jean’s face into a better position. ‘That wasn’t what I... meant to….’ His mumbling trailed off as he found himself so close they breathed the same air — or would have if his lungs hadn’t stopped working.

His eyes fluttered closed when Marco kissed him again. It was soft and sweet; shy and searching. All concerns for the rest of the world vanished, and Jean’s mind and being filled with thoughts of Marco; his nose brushing Jean’s cheek, the taste of his lips and how they moved against Jean’s. How he smiled into the kiss and let a small, content sigh escape between them when they parted a little.

Jean hugged Marco closer to him as he tried to catch up with the turn the night had taken, his mind racing with the realisations. In one way it was abstract, like another illusion, but at the same time Marco’s arms wrapped tight around his back, cold nose buried in the warmth of his neck, and it felt all too real to be anything else.

The remains of the magic still fell like glitter around them; small, cold, twinkling snowflakes landed on Jean’s nose as he glanced upwards. A small laugh bubbled in his chest, and he planted another quick kiss on Marco’s cheek before pressing his face into Marco’s shoulder, happiness spreading with the excitement soaring through him.

For that moment, everything was perfect.

* * *

Marco woke slowly, surrounded by warmth and calm. The snowstorm still raged outside, but although it had been a concern before, now he was glad it was happening. He burrowed closer with a happy sigh, pressing a light kiss to Jean’s collarbone.

Jean shifted a little and nudged Marco’s temple gently with his chin. ‘You awake?’

‘Mmm. Almost.’ Marco kept his eyes closed, nose still brushing the crook of Jean’s neck, small puffs of air travelling across the prince’s skin. Jean hummed in response and settled back against the pillows, continuing to thread his fingers through Marco’s hair. One of his arms lay under Marco’s head, the other resting comfortably over his shoulder, and both hands were occupied with the dark curls.

‘It’s getting long.’

‘Mm, every time I’m home Mother says I should cut it. She complains the _mad hermit_ is a bad influence on me.’

Marco felt Jean’s laugh vibrate in his chest, and it brought a smile to his own sleepy face.

‘Still not on the best of terms, are they?’

‘No… she tends to forget Hanji’s helping me and only focuses on how much I’m away. I understand it, though,’ Marco added. His eyes were open now, watching his own fingers brush over Jean’s pale chest. ‘Father isn’t as strong as he used to be. They need me to be there to help.’

‘Hm.’ Jean sounded thoughtful, but didn’t dwell on the matter. Instead he pressed his lips to Marco’s hairline and said, ‘Don’t let that bother you now.’

‘I won’t.’ Marco lifted himself up on his elbow and steadied himself on the arm around Jean’s back as he leaned closer, the tip of their noses touching, and smiled at the softness in Jean’s gaze. ‘Besides,’ he added in a whisper as his eyes shifted over Jean’s messy hair and the faint blush spreading across his pretty face. ‘I don’t think anything can bother me right now.’

Jean opened his mouth to answer, but all he managed to do was to keep staring. His eyes travelled over what was visible of Marco’s upper body, and unable to stop himself he moved his hands over the tattoos meeting in the centre of Marco’s chest. They pulsed under Jean’s touch, vibrating with the energy surging from the source out to Marco’s hands, heating the palms and spreading to the fingertips. Marco trailed one hand up Jean’s side, observing how Jean inhaled sharply and the pink in his cheeks deepened. He laughed a little, earning a glare that wasn’t as much scowling as it was loving. ‘Will you just kiss me!?’

Marco’s grin widened, and he bit his lip to stop himself from laughing again. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he teased and cut off Jean’s frowning complaint about the title by pressing their lips together. A week, a month, a year, and he hadn’t tired of kissing him. He doubted he ever would.

Jean’s annoyance washed away as if it had never been there; his hands found Marco’s neck and shoulders, holding him closer and closer still, legs tangled under the blankets and arms wrapped around each other until their bare skin pressed together everywhere possible.

Time was hard to measure when the world was a grey-white blur outside and all thoughts circled around the other person. But it must be at least two days since Hanji left them and the sky erupted into storm shortly afterwards. There was no need to worry about the witch, though. If anyone knew their way through this weather, it was them.

The walls shook in the violent wind and cold seeped in through the cracks around the windows. They’d huddled together, shared warmth and whispers and, as their time alone stretched into hours, the kind of intimacy they’d only thought about before. It was a bit awkward at first, tentative and uncertain, but they would figure it out together, without rush. Marco blushed when he whispered it, not quite able to meet Jean’s eyes — and somehow it had helped; Jean pulled him into a tight embrace, no intention to let go any time soon. With the storm whining on and Hanji still gone, they had no reason to get up anyway. So they stayed where they were, talking and exploring and laughing until the awkwardness blew away bit by bit with the wind howling past outside.

Marco broke the kiss and rested his forehead to Jean’s, their breaths warm between them. Jean’s beautiful amber eyes stared up at him with such affection, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘I like it,’ he managed finally.

‘Huh?’

‘Your hair, I mean. I… I like it. You shouldn’t… I mean it looks good like this.’

Marco smiled and glanced at the strands of hair curling down the side of his face as Jean twined them around his fingers again. Then he noticed the tiny braid Jean must have made earlier while he slept. ‘Mhm? You don’t think I should cut it, then?’ Jean shook his head. ‘Even though it makes me look even more like low-born scum?’

‘Don’t say that. You’re not scum, and you know I couldn’t care less about your class — or mine. A-and you’re beautiful, no matter how you look.’

‘Well,’ Marco said, hiding the warmth spreading through him by teasing Jean again, ‘if my lord says so.’

Jean’s tender expression vanished and he rolled his eyes with a deep frustrated sigh. ‘Stop with the “my lord”, Marco. It’s not funny.’

Marco gave him a wicked grin and leaned down to rest his cheek to Jean’s. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t like it,’ he murmured into his ear.

‘I d-don’t!’

‘ _My lord_.’

‘Marco!’ Jean pushed him away by the shoulder, blushing furiously and glaring while Marco lay beside him laughing into the pillow. ‘Seriously, y-you… you could say anything with that voice and I—I’d… _Stop saying that_!’

‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry!’

He was still wheezing through his wide grin, clearly not sorry at all, but Jean was already losing against himself to stay mad. Marco could tell, and with a soft smile he closed the distance between them again. He kissed away Jean’s frown before pressing another to his ear.

This time he only whispered a name, the low hum of his voice sending shivers down Jean’s body. It drew a shaky breath from his lips, which Marco caught with his own. Jean kissed back without hesitation, and then rolled them both over to place himself on top of him.  

Marco laughed, and something gleamed in Jean’s eyes. Without a word he adjusted himself with one knee on each side of Marco’s hips and grasped his wrists to hold him in place. He then leaned closer to trail slow kisses down his throat and chest, drawing Marco’s laugh into a long whimper. The tattoos quivered from his warm breath, and Marco felt Jean’s smile widen each time it happened. He wriggled his wrists to make him entwine their fingers instead, and Jean complied with a loving squeeze, not once taking his lips and teeth away from Marco’s skin.

‘I was sent out into a fucking storm to save the prince,’ Levi’s dry voice suddenly burst through their bubble, ‘and here the brat is all cosy in bed with his _friend_.’

Jean’s eyes widened in shock and then moved faster than Marco had ever seen him. He rolled off and grabbed for the blanket to cover them, hiding everything but Marco’s head underneath it.

Levi watched them from the doorway. ‘I didn’t see anything I haven’t seen before,’ he said, voice bored.

‘Don’t you ever knock?!’ Jean grumbled from his hiding place, voice muffled by the cloth covering his face. Levi rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Marco’s own blush spread when Levi’s piercing stare fell on him, and although he couldn’t see Jean, he felt the heat from Jean’s burning cheek as it pressed into his shoulder under the blanket.

‘I didn’t know people had to knock when they enter their own house.’

‘You don’t live here!’ Jean sat up, still making sure the blanket covered most below their shoulders, and tugged Marco along into the new position. At that moment Hanji appeared behind Levi, raising a smug eyebrow in their direction. Jean groaned, his ears burning bright red against his pale hair. ‘What are you even doing here?’ he asked Levi. ‘It’s almost a blizzard outside!’

‘Your parents weren’t content with my assurance that you’d be fine until it was over,’ Levi said. ‘Which is understandable, I suppose, considering I couldn’t exactly say where you were. Don’t think they’d taken it very well if I said you were keeping warm by fucking a witch in a cottage in the forest.’

Jean’s face was so red he looked ready to combust on the spot. Levi turned away. ‘Just get your ass up and dressed now and Hanji’ll lead us back before the lady orders some poor folks out into this storm to find you.’ He closed the door Jean had cursed him for not knocking on. Marco decided not to point out it wasn’t really Levi’s fault, seeing as they’d left it open earlier because they were alone in the house.

Jean whined and fell back against the mattress, looking at Marco with a disappointed scowl. ‘I was supposed to stay until the storm ceased,’ he sighed, trailing his fingers up Marco’s arm.

Marco gave him a small smile and eased himself down beside him again. Of course he didn’t want Jean to leave, and the thought of having to say goodbye so soon made his heart ache in its cage. But this was the way it was. ‘There’ll be other times,’ he said, trying to cheer up both of them. It sounded empty though, and Jean sighed.

‘We barely see each other,’ he said, eyebrows furrowed in concern. ‘Especially not recently because they expect me to be present at all the Council meetings and it’s hard enough to get out to your house in the city, but as long as you’re out _here—_ ’

He interrupted himself with a long sigh, and Marco answered with a gentle kiss. ‘I don’t care if it takes time,’ he breathed against Jean’s lips, smoothing his frown out with his thumb. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

Jean smiled again and closed his eyes as he pulled Marco closer, wrapping his arms tight around him and resumed kissing him wherever he could reach. Marco sighed into his shoulder, pressing his own lips repeatedly to the spot where they met Jean’s skin.

Then Levi coughed from beside the bed, sharp and unamused. ‘I did not intend to drag you out myself because I’ve seen enough of ass today but if you don’t get up—’

‘GODS, LEVI! I’m getting dressed, okay? Get out!’

So they got dressed for the first time in days, making the most of it by helping each other do so, kissing exposed skin before covering it with cloth. When Levi came in for the third time they were both fully dressed, though by no means alert to his presence. Marco sat on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor and arms around Jean, who in his turn was straddling Marco’s lap and kissing him with soft moans breaking loose from between their lips.

‘You two are going to get me banished for not doing my job,’ Levi said.

They walked out into the snow, dressed in fur and warm cloaks to protect them from the wind. Hanji worked their magic to get them safely through the white storm, leading the way in blinding light. It was like a timeless wander, but when they reached their destination it was still too soon for their liking.

Jean let go of Marco’s hand only to take off his gloves and dig both hands inside Marco’s cloak, using their embrace to search for one last piece of bare skin before having to part from him for the gods knew how long. Marco wheezed through his nose when the cold fingers pressed to his lower back under the shirt, and tightened his own grip around Jean’s shoulders. For once Levi didn’t scold them for taking so long.

‘I’ll see you when you can, all right?’ Marco whispered into the fur of Jean’s cloak. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Jean pulled back a little to meet Marco’s gaze. His cheeks and nose were pink from the biting cold, his eyes blank and eyebrows furrowed in such a miserable expression Marco couldn’t stand seeing it. He closed his own eyes and kissed Jean softly, preparing himself not to let his own sadness show when they parted.

But then Jean spoke again; three words Marco had only dared to think in silence were whispered against his lips, Jean’s cold ones barely moving around the faint sound lost in the whining storm.

_I love you._

But Marco heard. His eyes fluttered open again, staring down at Jean. He opened and closed his mouth, stunned into silence by disbelief mixed with wonder.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. During the past year they’d shown their love in other ways than saying it out loud, but it had been in a silent agreement the actual words would hold too much promise of things they both knew were impossible. None of that had changed, but Jean’s confession still made that small, hushed spot of hope in Marco’s chest burn a little brighter. Jean gave him a sad but loving smile, the affection in his eyes so clear it pushed the last doubt away. Marco leaned down to press his forehead to Jean’s, their cold noses bumping together.

‘I love you too,’ he whispered back. He managed a shaky breath before saying it again, louder. ‘I love you.’

They stood there until Levi finally said it was time to get inside. So they parted with reluctance, last touch lingering on their lips and fingers long after they’d said goodbye.

* * *

Sometimes, Jean thought about running away. Just taking what he could carry on his back and in one hand, holding Marco’s with the other. Leave all responsibilities and obstacles behind and start something new, elsewhere, together.

Marco listened when Jean mentioned it and added his own thoughts to how things might have been for them if they hadn’t been born into so different classes. But he also saw what Jean didn’t, and gently remarked that the security Jean knew since his birth and took for granted in the plans for their future was tied to the life he wanted to abandon. Things would not be as easy without the privilege his title and family name gave him, and while he would be freed from responsibility and importance, another kind of chain would take their place.

Anything would be worth it if it meant he was free to be with Marco, Jean wanted to believe. But when he voiced that thought, Marco only gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And anyway, what did it matter?  Marco would never leave his family. Not with how things were and with the direction it was heading. At one point Reiner promised to look after them if Marco was to leave, and for a short, endless, moment it almost seemed as if Marco would let go. But it was all dreams, and Jean knew that just as well as Marco did, even when he painted the future before them with colours he only saw when they were together.

Only dreams.

The autumn and winter that followed Marco’s eighteenth birthday brought with them the cruel reality. It was worse than Jean remembered, or maybe he had just refused to see it before.

The streets were littered with corpses.

The sick, the poor, the unfortunate souls doomed to end their lives in the dirt with no one able to help. It got worse as the weeks passed, and when sleet fell and mixed with the mud on the ground, disease was spreading like wildfire.

Jean left coins and food he had snatched from the kitchen in waiting hands, determined to make up for the year he had promised food to Marco’s father and later found out none of it had been delivered.

The visits into the city made him nervous, though. In the beginning it had been easy to make himself believe all he had to do were small acts of charity, but it was apparent now that was far from enough. Nothing would change unless his parents reformed their views and laws. Most of the people that saw him might not know who he was, but _he_ knew. And although his identity wasn’t recognised by the masses, some specific few were well aware of his position.

Marco’s mother opened the door; the grey strands in her familiar dark hair seemed to have multiplied tenfold since he’d last seen her, and her tired face immediately stiffened at the sight of him standing there. Jean was taller than her, but Elena Bodt stood a step higher with Jean on the ground, and used this with no shame to look down at him. Jean shifted uncomfortably in the silence, and when he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off.

‘This sickness leaves trails of bodies wherever it goes,’ she said, her voice low, dangerous. ‘Orphaned children without food freeze to death before they can starve because they have barely rags to wear when the snow falls. And what do you do about it? You close the gates and hide inside, offering no help.’ She spat at Jean’s feet, no longer afraid to show her distaste, her body trembling. But it wasn’t in fury; when she looked up again, her eyes were red with tears, the grief so deep and heart-breaking Jean had to fight himself not to cry with her. ‘The only thing you do is killing the people gifted with the ability to help.’

Jean’s eyes dropped to the ground. He had no argument because every word she said was true. It made him feel sick, with anger at his parents and the Council, and shame because he benefited from the decisions they made. He was part of it.

‘We’ve lost one of our own little more than a week ago, taken from us because the medicine was denied the filth that we are, and then _you_ come here,’ Mrs Bodt went on, tears finally trickling down her cheeks, ‘in your fancy clothes and warm cloak, no hunger or thirst ever bothering you, no cold seeping into your very bones as you die in the shit on the street — intending to take from us the only strength we have left, making empty promises to keep him wrapped around your finger... And he lets you because he’s too kind and too caught in your lies to understand that things like these cannot be.’

‘Mrs Bodt, I _swear_ I don’t—’

‘Marco isn’t here. And if he was, this is where he’d stay. You will not have him.’

With those words she slammed the door in Jean’s face, leaving him shivering in the dusk from a cold not caused by the sleet falling from the grey sky. He considered knocking again, but decided against it.

He had just turned away when he heard new footsteps from inside. A glimmer of light fell across him again as the door was eased open enough for the thin figure to slip out. Maria shuddered against the wind, wearing no cloak to keep the cold out. She met Jean’s eyes from under her bangs, solemn expression deepened by the recent events, and held out a folded paper to him.

Jean reached out for it, but Maria didn’t let go. Instead she squinted at him. ‘You are good at sneaking out, my lord,’ she said. ‘I hope you make sure no one ever follows when you do. He trusts you.’

 _I don’t_ , her eyes told him before she let him take the paper. _But I trust him_.

Jean had no good answer for her, so he fled from her comment by turning his eyes to the note. An address was scribbled across the paper with a handwriting he recognised. ‘Marco gave you this?’ he asked, even though he knew already; at least the question broke the heavy silence hanging over them.

Maria nodded and hugged herself with both arms, rubbing warmth back into her body. ‘He could have just told me but… he didn’t want me to know. Just in case…’ Her voice trailed off, lips trembling not only from cold but also fear as her eyes fell on the wall looming so close to their home. ‘He left it for you.’

‘Thank you.’

Maria glanced back at the door. ‘I… I apologise for mother.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Jean said, but Maria ignored him.

‘We are all grieving, but she… it is all very hard for her.’

Jean stared at Maria’s black clothes, sadness heavy in his chest. ‘I’m… I’m so sorry. I wish I could have…’ Helped. Done something. _Anything_.

_You close the gates and hide inside, offering no help._

Maria didn’t meet his eyes when she shrugged, resigned. ‘Marco tried. But he wouldn’t let him.’

‘What?’ Jean felt his throat closing. Marco hadn’t mentioned that. He had sat there broken with tears streaming down his face and said there was nothing they could do, repeated it over and over between the sobs as to convince himself, and Jean hadn’t questioned it. He had just held him and whispered empty words about how things would be all right.

‘Might not have worked anyway. Old sicknesses are harder to cure.’ She glanced at Jean. ‘Father said people would see the truth if he suddenly got well after so many years. He didn’t dare risk that.’

Jean nodded, not trusting his voice to hold if he said anything. He made a gesture with the note, managed another short ‘thank you’, and then turned and hurried away. When he glanced back, Maria had returned into the house.

He found Marco in a weather-beaten old building on the street named on Maria’s note. The place was filled with people, most of them in different states of illness; some coughing in the corners, others lying on the floor writhing in fever and pain. There were lost ones too, those who had arrived too late to be helped, their lifeless bodies covered by blankets while waiting to be carried out.

It stank of sweat and blood and looming death, but not all without hope. Hanji and a few other witches moved among them, energy coming from them in waves as they aided the ill with their magic. Jean stared around, both horrified and amazed by the sight meeting him from all sides.

Marco was kneeling on the floor by the makeshift bed of a small girl, one hand rested on her brow and the other on her chest, mumbling silent words and intense eyes fixed on her face. She still looked ill when Marco removed his hands, but she seemed to sleep more soundly without the whimpers from before. Marco took a deep breath before he forced himself up on his feet, staggering as he turned to the next child in line.

Jean watched him in silence from where he stood a few paces away; saw the light of the magic being pressed into the sick, and how Marco’s own eyes lost more lustre each time. Jean knew how strong he was, how long time he could spend practising this craft without breaking much more than a sweat. But the Marco before him now was exhausted, limbs quivering, face grey and empty.

‘Marco!’ A brown-haired witch Jean vaguely recognised appeared beside Marco and gave him what looked like a collection of ribbons. Marco took them and rose to his feet. ‘Take a break, tiring yourself out won’t help anyone.’

Marco looked ready to protest, but then his eyes fell on Jean and he ended the argument before starting it. Instead he moved past the witch, who didn’t wait before he set to work where Marco had stopped, and walked up to Jean to pull him into a hug. Pressed together Jean sensed every small shiver run through Marco’s tense body. Strong, kind, loving Marco who did so much for others he forgot about himself.

‘You got the note from Maria?’ Marco mumbled into his shoulder before leaning back enough to kiss his lips.

Jean nodded, and burrowed his nose back into the crook of Marco’s neck, breathing in his scent and existence. Marco nudged him gently with his chin and pressed another quick kiss to his cheek.

‘Come, let’s go outside. It’s not safe for you to be in here for too long. We don’t think it spreads through air, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

He took Jean’s hand and led the way back towards the door without waiting for a response. Jean didn’t argue, though; what they were doing here was incredible, but he couldn’t wait to get out into the fresh air again, despite the sleet and mud waiting there.

They were alone outside, the silence eerie in the falling dark. Marco hadn’t brought any sort of cloak so he stood with his arms bare, shuddering a little but not complaining. ‘It helps me wake up,’ he said when Jean gave him a questioning look. ‘If I start freezing I promise to get more clothes on, don’t worry.’

‘What’s that for?’ Jean asked and pointed at the ribbons in Marco’s hands.

‘This? Oh, it’s to help with the recovering. We braid healing into it, and then give one each to those we’ve helped and those who aren’t too sick yet.’

Jean squinted at it suspiciously. ‘Weren’t you supposed to rest?’ he asked, and Marco looked up with a slight frown at the sharp tone in his voice.

‘This isn’t much, Jean. It’s all right.’ But Marco’s tired eyes darted away from him too quickly, trying to hide the truth behind cheery words. Jean wasn’t fooled. He thought of Maria’s scared glance at the wall; the unspoken reason why Marco hadn’t simply told her where he was; the increasing amount of executions and the Council’s furious hunt to find every little trace of magic and destroy it.

‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked, knowing the answer already but not able to stop himself. ‘It’s a terrible risk to take, if the wrong people found out...’

 _He’s incredible!_ Hanji’s words echoed through Jean’s mind, the witch’s enthusiastic grin over their student’s gift distinct even in their voice. _He’s an even better healer than I am!_

Marco was modest about it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t well aware of how important his contribution was. They both knew. ‘If I don’t help, these children die.’

‘And what about your life, then?’ Jean demanded, the frustration making him angry. ‘For the Gods’ sake, Marco! If they arrest you I don’t know if my influence is enough to free you!’

‘I never expected it to be, Jean.’ Marco was calm, resigned, watching his fingers twine the braid as if on their own accord. Then he met Jean’s gaze again. ‘I know the risks, and I choose to do this despite them. Nothing you say will change that.’

When used to have his orders followed it was hard to accept that Marco wouldn’t listen to his demands. Not with this, not with the important things. Jean cursed in desperation and slammed his hand into the wall. ‘Gods damn it, I don’t want to lose you!’

Marco started and stared at Jean with mouth half open before his expression melted into tender solemnity. ‘You won’t,’ he said, voice soft. ‘I’m right here.’

With a shivering sigh Jean let his head fall forward, pressed his brow to Marco’s broad shoulder and tried to steady his breathing. He trailed his fingers along the black lines covering Marco’s arm, admiring their beauty and the power they held. The power Marco held.

He was saving lives. Risking his own in the process, yes, but it was his choice to make, not Jean’s. Jean knew that, and he knew it was selfish of him to ask Marco to stop. ‘Please be careful,’ he whispered instead, clutching Marco’s shirt in his hands.

‘I’m always careful,’ Marco mumbled back, letting go of the braid with one hand to brush his fingers through Jean’s hair, and guide his face up and closer to kiss.

Too soon the door opened behind them. Jean’s grip of Marco’s shirt tightened, even more so when Marco’s own hold of him loosened; he wanted to keep him there, hoped Marco would ignore whoever had come out for him if only Jean refused to let go. But Marco opened his eyes with a sigh and brushed the tip of his nose against Jean’s before turning towards Hanji standing in the doorway. Jean tried to get his attention back by tugging at his shirt; the need to see him, to be with him, the ache of longing in his chest even worse now after so briefly having him and then losing him again. It wasn’t enough. Never enough.

Marco took Jean’s hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. ‘I have to go,’ he said, forehead touching Jean’s. He’d always been somewhat taller, but the past year the difference between them had grown. Jean gazed up at him, silently asking for things he knew Marco couldn’t give him. Not now.

With a final kiss ghosting over Jean’s lips, Marco let go and went back to the door. There he hesitated; he took a deep breath, his shoulders shuddering, and looked back at Jean with a small, sad smile, before finally returning inside.

Jean sighed. He was free to feel sorry for himself but Marco still had more to deal with. He had just lost his father and yet there he was, working with nearly no rest as if nothing had happened. Or maybe that was why; a way to forget for a moment. Fixing others when he couldn’t fix himself.

The walk back to the castle through the depressing city did nothing to improve Jean’s mood. Neither did the next day’s Council meeting; between rumours about rebels down south and the upcoming celebrations in honour of the king’s birthday, the disease became the topic of discussion. Or rather, the witches curing it.

Seated by the side of his brothers, Jean had forced himself to stay silent so many times during the years, but hearing the nobles cursing the only people who did anything about the problem, he finally exploded. ‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ he burst out, anger about the injustice and fear for Marco’s safety making him reckless. Eyes around the long table snapped to him, some even surprised to find him there at all. ‘They’re _helping_ , not hurting!’

Father Nick cut him down quicker than the lash of a whip, voice angry and patronising. ‘This fever is sent by the Gods to punish the wicked, Prince Jean. Using the unholy curses to stop this is blasphemy!’

Jean felt like smashing the priest’s face in, but his mother spoke before he had the chance to do anything else than glare at him. ‘I’m of the impression the disease is the work of the devils,’ she said and for a moment Jean actually hoped he wasn’t the only sensible person in the room. That hope quickly died. ‘In either case, so is magic. To first spread death and then cure a few is not goodness; it’s cruelty. Do not defend these monsters.’

Jean was still fuming, but a sharp look from Levi across the table stopped him from humiliating himself more. His brother’s hand squeezed his shoulder, though Erick didn’t voice any opinion agreeing with him. It made the gesture more patronising than understanding, and Jean shrugged him off without meeting his eyes. He felt them on him, though, and from Erick’s other side Alden watched them with the familiar, slightly lighter version of their father’s disapproving frown.

After the meeting was over, Levi grabbed his elbow and pulled him aside, glaring around to make sure no one tried to listen in on the conversation.

‘You should keep inside the walls until this is over,’ he said, giving Jean a stern gaze. ‘Eri’s protection doesn’t reach farther than that, and we don’t want you to bring the illness with you in here. Right now that must be prioritised; it’s more important than for you to spend time with that boy. If you don’t, I’ll have to put guards on you.’

‘Are you just going to stand by and watch as the Council decides to hunt down and arrest our friends?’ Jean spit out, ignoring Levi’s warning. ‘Can’t you talk—’

‘Hanji makes their own decisions,’ Levi cut him off. ‘As does Marco. He’s of age. You, on the other hand, aren’t.’

‘I will be soon enough!’

‘And then you are to marry someone your parents find suitable.  It’s better you wake up now while there’s still time to accept reality as it is than keep dreaming until the life you can’t escape crashes down on you with no sympathy for what you want.’

Jean wanted so badly to curse at him more, to take out all frustration and anger and fear on someone who wouldn’t send the police to arrest the healers before he’d even finished the first sentence. But Levi’s words left him empty and filled anew with dread. ‘You’re not married,’ he managed for a weak response, aware it didn’t change a thing.

‘I’m not a prince.’

He didn’t need to hear this, especially not now. Was not being able to share his life with the boy he loved supposed to make it easier to accept that the one in question constantly ran the risk to die at his parents’ hands? Jean glared at Levi, but the fight had already left him.

‘Stay inside,’ Levi repeated. ‘It’s safer for both of you.’

Jean didn’t nod or in any way acknowledge what Levi had said. The fencing master must have realised the orders wouldn’t be followed, and still he gave Jean a chance before he forbade the wall guards to let him go outside. A lot of things would have been better if Jean had only listened, but he couldn’t stay away.

When the dizziness came creeping, he blamed it on how worried he was for Marco. But as he started coughing, and found his fingers and lips spattered with blood from a wound festering somewhere deep inside of him, he couldn’t quite believe in his own excuses anymore.

‘Shit’, he cursed under his breath. He shivered as he wiped the blood from his hand and face, then looked around to make sure he hadn’t been seen. If no one knew he was ill, no one would know he’d been cured. And Marco would remain safe, at least for now.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for how long this has taken oh dear but *raises hands to the Heavens* I DID IT FINALLY. (Also, I fixed some things in chapter 1 and 2!)  
> Yeah so, here's the final chapter! For now, at least. This au has a lot to tell and I've had the intention to write more but there's also so many other aus and fics in my head demanding attention sooo we'll see what happens. 
> 
> Anyway, here we go. I hope you enjoy! :D
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

The castle was beautiful up close. Detailed artworks were carved into the walls and glistering ornaments decorated the corridors they hurried through. If things had been different Marco would have stared at it all in wonder, but now he was too worried to care.

He did his best not to seem out of place though. If anyone looked twice they would probably notice how he didn’t belong, and the last thing they needed added to their list of problems was the wrong people finding out about the suspicious-looking pauper the fencing master had brought inside. Luckily, said master had no intention to let that happen; if anyone sent them a curious glance, Levi was quick to glare back in return, daring them to question anything. No one did.

Like most days the past months, Marco had been busy helping the ill when Levi suddenly showed up in the building he worked. Levi had never been to it before, and Marco assumed he must have taken a wrong turn at some point on his way to Hanji. He intended to ask if this was the case and offer the right directions, but all that was pushed out of his mind when Levi spoke. Short and straight to the point, not even offering a greeting before explaining his reason for being there. It pierced Marco’s heart with a needle of ice, the cold seeping through his limbs as the meaning of the words settled in the churning pit of his stomach.

‘Jean’s ill.’

_No no please Eri no—_

‘Spitting blood, boiling from fever, you know the rest.’

There was no time to go find Hanji and explain why Marco had to leave so suddenly, so Levi left a short message with one of the other healers in Marco’s group. Marco himself was too shaken by the news to pay attention to which of them it was or what exactly Levi said to them. But he saw Mina’s worried glances and mumbled a short reply to her and the others’ goodbyes.

Neither of them said much on their quick walk back to the castle, and although Marco had questions, he couldn’t ask them. All his strength was used to hold himself back from breaking down in a panic, to keep moving forward.

At one point Levi muttered about how Jean had come to him asking to be allowed outside, barely able to stand and definitely in no condition to find Marco. ‘I meant to get you in and out before anyone noticed, but then unfortunately he passed out in a corridor and was found by some servant girl, so now they all know.’

Marco swallowed, staring ahead to force himself not to stop and think too much about what state Jean must be in. But his worry still pushed all horrifying scenarios into sight of his mind’s eye, scaring him almost to tears. _No_. He shook his head, willing the fear away. It would be all right. He could cure Jean, and everything would be fine.

Levi finally came to halt by a door, swiftly gesturing to the guard standing outside it to let them through. The red-haired woman stepped aside with a worried expression, and the glance she sent Marco held knowledge he wasn’t sure he wanted her to have. But what she knew and didn’t know stopped matter the moment he stepped into the chamber and found Jean curled up on the bed.

‘Jean!’ he gasped and rushed forward, but stopped again when Jean turned around and stared at him with wide eyes.

‘No,’ he said and to Marco’s bewilderment, he looked angry as he sat up and his gaze found the fencing master remaining in the doorway. ‘No, Levi, I told you _not to bring him here_!’

Levi didn’t dignify that with a response. He just looked at them both in silence before walking out and closing the door.

‘You think I could stay away when he told me you were ill?’ Marco asked, his voice shifting Jean’s stare back to him.

Jean sighed and ran a hand through his clammy hair. ‘You weren’t supposed to know.’

‘ _What?_ ’ Marco gaped at him in disbelief, anger and hurt boiling inside his chest. ‘You were — what? Not letting me know until it’s announced to the city that you’ve died?!’

‘I’m _not_ going to _die_.’ Jean said it with such certainty it was almost convincing. Almost. But then he coughed, the raspy sound tearing in his throat, blood spraying over the hand he used to cover his mouth. He shivered, and even though he tried to hide it by bending forward, Marco still glimpsed the tears and fear in his eyes. It broke his heart for the hundredth time that day.

‘Jean, please,’ he said and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for him. ‘Let me help you.’

Jean closed his eyes and leaned away, the light from the fireplace reflecting in the sweat on his skin. He shook his head, moving until he was at the other side of the mattress. ‘I can’t let you do it.’

‘Jean, this fever won’t just go away. You’re _dying_. Please, I only need a few minutes—’

‘It takes longer than that. I’ve seen you work.’

‘—and no one needs to know it was me,’ Marco finished, giving him a sharp stare for interrupting. ‘You’re being ridiculous. You can’t seriously mean you’re not going to let me do this.’

Jean sighed with the shiver running through his body. ‘They will kill you if they catch you, Marco,’ he said finally, meeting Marco’s silent stare. ‘I—I can’t… it’s too dangerous. Please don’t ask me to let you die for me.’

‘But you’re asking me to step back and just watch _you_ die when I could’ve helped you?’

‘You don’t have to watch…’ Jean winched at his own words even before they had all left his mouth, and he turned away to avoid Marco’s eyes.

The ice seeping into Marco’s bones cooled down the earlier anger and all he was able to do was sit there and stare at Jean curling up with arms around the knees pressed to his chest. ‘How… how can you do this?’ Marco asked, his voice low, shaky. ‘How can you be so _selfish_?’

Jean looked up at him again, scowling. ‘How is this selfish? I’m doing it to make sure you’ll be all right!’

‘No, you’re doing it for yourself.’ Marco tried to remain calm but the severity of the situation was too much, too awful. It wasn’t long since he had a similar discussion, with a loved one now gone. He couldn’t let that happen again. With trembling hands he stood up and took a deep breath before facing Jean again. ‘You’re making a choice that isn’t yours to make,’ he said, ‘because _you_ can’t bear the thought of me dying for helping you. And I understand that. But how do you think _I_ feel now?’

‘Oh of course, you’re the only one allowed to risk your life, huh?’

‘It’s not the same, Jean! I can get away with it, I can cure you and walk out of here and live. There’s a risk, and I won’t deny that, but there’s also a chance it’ll be all right. If we do this your way there’s only one certain outcome, no matter what illusion you’re trying to uphold. If I don’t take the risk, _you’re going to die._ ’

Something shifted in Jean’s eyes then; it wasn’t complete surrender, and he was still leaning away, stubbornly pressing his lips together **.** But Marco felt how his certainty wavered, fear prodding at him to give in to what Marco wanted.

‘Jean,’ he pleaded, the anger gone from his voice, so focused on Jean’s crumbling defences he didn’t hear the door opening behind him. ‘I can’t step back; _I love you_ , don’t you understand that? Please let me help—’

‘Who is this?’ a woman’s voice cut him off, her cold tone stabbing Marco’s back with icicles. He turned around to find a pair of fierce eyes gazing at him from a pale face; features sharp like Jean’s and her long hair the same colours as his. ‘Who let this filth inside?’ she demanded.

Alarm crossed Jean’s face, before he scowled at the words she spit out. ‘He’s _not_ filth, Mother.’

‘Oh, so this is the boy you’ve been sneaking out to see?’ The duchess sent her son a disapproving glare so alike his own, before turning back to Marco. Her face was a carved mask of despise, so strong Marco had to take a few steps away from the bed. ‘See what you have caused,’ she said, gesturing pointedly towards Jean as she walked up to place herself between them, forcing Marco farther away with each step. ‘See what your _love_ has done to my son. _He’s dying because of you_!’

Marco’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open around a silent denial, but as her words sank in he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the truth in them. She was right, wasn’t she? The only reason Jean had been around the ill was because of him. And now he wasn’t even allowed to help him.

Jean’s face twisted in anger. ‘ _Mother_!’ he yelled and moved to get out of the bed, but the duchess was quicker and pushed him back down by his shoulders.

‘You stay in bed,’ she ordered, and then glared at Marco. Her anger made him flinch back. ‘And you; _leave_.’

‘ _No_ , mother — _Marco_!’ Jean wriggled in his mother’s grasp, but he was too weak to free himself from the arms she held around him. Marco stared back at him from where he stood by the door, still frozen in place by fear and guilt; he didn’t notice his own tears until Jean’s eyes flooded over, his name falling from Jean’s lips in a broken sob.

Lady Kirschtein’s eyes flashed as she fixed them on Marco again. ‘I gave you an order,’ she said, a storm building behind her voice, threatening to blow up any second. ‘You do best to follow it this instant — and don’t you dare show yourself here again!’

Levi appeared by Marco’s side then and with a firm grip of his arm the fencing master got him moving again. The last thing Marco saw before the guard quickly shut the door behind them, was Jean’s tear-stained face pleading for him to stay. And he realised this was it, this was the chance he’d had, and he’d lost it. He wouldn’t be able to get back inside.

Marco didn’t know how he managed to keep up the quick pace Levi was leading him in. He should be lying in broken pieces on the floor, unable to do anything else than sob and shake and cry until the ache in his chest either eased or killed him.

‘Save the tears, people are already noticing you,’ Levi hissed. He must have said it while they were still deep inside the castle, but somehow his voice didn’t break through to Marco until tiny white stars mixed with the droplets on his cheeks. Levi had barely time to push him away from anyone’s sight before his legs bent beneath him, crashing him into the wet snow in the shadows of the walls. ‘Marco, you need to calm—’

But Marco didn’t hear him over the silent screams in his head. Jean was dying. Every second lessened the time he had left. It might just be a day, a few hours… _one_. Marco couldn’t just go back home; he couldn’t leave Jean like this. He had to do something, he had to help, even if it meant revealing himself as a witch, _he_ _had to do it._

Would they rather let their son die than allow Marco to save him?

Somehow, Levi forced him up on his feet again. Not with words, for he didn’t say anything else than giving a vague promise to get Marco back inside, later. It was Levi’s eyes that spoke the most, the icy determination not to let it end like this, and a glimpse of his own pain hidden behind it.

Marco had to trust in him. And until Levi came back for him, he had things he must do at home. Preparations. So he nodded, wiping his tears, and they parted ways.

They all rose from the table when Marco came inside, melting snowflakes dripping from his hair. His mother rushed to him with alarm screaming from her face and fresh tears filling in the tracks of old ones. ‘Oh Marco, Marco!’ she sobbed into his chest, holding him so close to her the shaky breath he tried to exhale stuck in his lungs.

Marco stared at the others. Maria’s face was grey and her startled eyes sunken, her hands gripping the front of her skirts so tight her knuckles were white. Beside her stood Hanji, the witch’s expression twisted in a mix of fear and relief Marco had never seen on them before. It made his insides churn.

‘Wh-what’s going on?’ he asked.

‘They found us.’ Hanji’s voice was grave, the usual inappropriate excitement nowhere to be found.

Elena pulled back a step to meet Marco’s eyes. ‘W-we thought you had been arrested. O-oh Marco...’

A lightning bolt of shivers rushed down Marco’s spine. ‘Has anyone been?!’

Hanji hesitated, grief pulling their voice down into a hushed whisper. ‘Your group didn’t get the warning in time.’

Marco stared back at them, his mouth falling open. This couldn’t be. This whole day had to be an awful nightmare. ‘Wh-what...?’

‘They fought back and... it’s bad. Very bad.’ Hanji sighed, followed by another heart wrenching sob from Elena. ‘You should have been there too, Marco. I’m so relieved you weren’t but... why?’

 _This isn’t happening._ ‘Levi,’ Marco mumbled, eyes focusing on nothing as he went through the day in his head. ‘He... he came to get me. You weren’t there, and we had to hurry so...o-oh Gods...’ He clamped a hand over his mouth, body trembling in his mother’s embrace.

‘What did Levi want?’ Hanji asked, but their voice was distant, far away in another time. ‘Marco!’

He shook his head, trying to clear it. ‘It’s Jean... He’s ill.’

‘You’ve been inside the castle?’ Elena’s voice was high-pitched and her hands were on Marco’s cheeks, holding his face in position before hers. ‘Marco, what have you done? **’**

‘Nothing,’ he mumbled back, briefly meeting her stare before looking down at the floor again. ‘He didn’t let me.’

‘Oh, thank the Gods…’

‘I’m going to, though,’ he went on, gaze racing over the room while he tried to calculate how much necessities the five of them could carry. ‘You need to pack; we can’t stay here after—’

Elena’s hold of him tightened. Her hands were firm on his shoulders, forcing him to stay still and face her. ‘No, Marco. _No_. I have been silent for so long while you played this game but no more. _No more_! I refuse to let you get yourself killed for that boy, I will not allow you to—’

‘It doesn’t matter what you say, Mother! I can’t let him die, don’t you understand? I _love_ him.’

‘Oh Marco, darling, please listen to yourself! You’re wasting your life on a fantasy…’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ He tore himself free from her trembling hands, backed away from all their pity. They knew they couldn’t stop him, and he didn’t need to convince them to let him do it. But it was more than that, he realised. This wasn’t just about Jean being ill now, it was about _Jean_. It had always hurt how his parents refused to see Jean as anything else than part of the oppressing nobility; how the only times he’d had everyone he loved together were nothing but brief moments heavy with cold, unspoken words and stares that shook with contempt.

His father had died without knowing the boy he loved. Now the rest of his family expected him to let Jean go as if he was nothing but a childish game Marco had long-since outgrown but refused to leave behind.

He couldn’t bare it.

‘It doesn’t matter if it can never be anything more than this, that all I will ever get is what has been already,’ he said, his voice shaking as he stared at his mother, urging her to understand. ‘And even if this works out, and I still can never live with him and never have anything more than sparse meetings, _it doesn’t matter_. I can’t leave him to die!’

Hanji was sitting by the table again, their eyes wandering over the others as they waited for how Marco’s words would be received. Maria had yet to speak, though judging by her frozen expression she would probably remain silent. Elena still wore the disapproving frown, but she didn’t interrupt.

‘You don’t have to follow me, but you can’t stay here anymore. They’ll know it was me.’ Marco took a shivering breath, tears welling up in his eyes again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so, so sorry but I can’t… I have to do this. _Please_ , Mother. Please understand…’

The heavy tension hanging over them cracked when the twins came running through the door. It was clear they had been unaware of the others’ worry, and now their bright expressions quickly melted away when they sensed the atmosphere and saw the faces of their family.

‘What’s going on?’ Milo asked, focus directed at Elena while Macy gave Marco an anxious stare. ‘Mother...?’

Elena didn’t break her eye contact with Marco. It went on for minutes; the silent consideration of how to react, what to decide. Marco couldn’t even make himself move enough to wipe the falling tears from his face. So he let them be, sniffling in the silence.

Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Pack your things.’

The twins frowned, no wiser than before. Bur Maria immediately snapped out of her fear and took it upon herself to get her siblings moving. They left the kitchen while their mother and Marco remained standing in the same spots, looking at each other across the room.

Then Elena took the steps separating them, cupped her hands around Marco’s trembling cheeks and pulled him into a tight hug. ‘You come out of there alive, Marco Bodt,’ she said, her voice steadier than it had been in weeks. ‘You hear me? You do what you have to do and then you come back to us.’

It felt like years, waiting for Levi. Hanji helped occupy Marco’s nervous hands, giving him ribbons to braid while they talked in hushed voices. Things looked grim for the arrested witches, but Hanji urged him to focus on things he _could_ do rather than what was out of his control. Others were going to try helping them, but once a witch was imprisoned they rarely came out alive.

‘Won’t others get ill too?’ Marco mumbled, his thoughts drifting back to the situation with Jean.

Hanji shook their head, thoughtful. ‘This is no ordinary illness, as you know. There’s a darkness in it, and The Sign of Eri was carved into the very walls to protect the castle people from such things. A very old ritual, made long ago.’

‘They’re using magic.’

Hanji gave him a humourless smile. ‘It’s the Protection of the Gods, not devilish witchcraft. Or so they would claim. Doesn’t matter the two are the same.’

Marco sighed, the frustration knotting his eyebrows into one line. ‘But why is Jean ill if the Signs should protect him?’

‘Because he caught it outside. There’s no denying that, and I’m so sorry, Marco. Only active magic can burn this poison away, but once you’ve done that I think the Signs will help him recover without you present.’

The words left a bad taste in Marco’s mouth as if he had been the one saying them, and when he looked at Hanji he was sure his discomfort showed on his face. ‘You _think_?’

‘I’m almost certain,’ Hanji said, a hint of the usual eager tone creeping back into their voice. ‘And anyway that’s the only hope we have. You won’t have time to see him fully back to health.’

By the time Levi showed up on their doorstep, night had fallen outside. ‘His mother knows you’re coming,’ he offered as greeting, turning without ceremony to return to the castle. ‘So it will be obvious it’s you.’

Marco had already assumed he would somehow be connected to the deed, so the first part was far more surprising. ‘She allows me to come back inside?’

‘Let’s just say they had an argument and Jean won. She doesn’t like this, but she isn’t as cold-hearted as it seems.’ Levi ended the conversation with that, not speaking again until offering an abrupt ‘good luck’ outside Jean’s chamber door.

Marco only nodded, mouth dry and hands trembling as he entered.

The room was darker this time; the fire had died down and only the warm glow remained. Jean shifted in the bed when he heard someone entering. It took a while before he looked up, and even as he did his reaction seemed delayed. But then his eyes widened a fraction in recognition.

‘ _Marco_ ,’ he whispered, his voice weak and heavy with tears, and arms shaking when lifting his own weight as he sat up. He reached out for Marco, found his face and ran long fingers over his nose and cheeks as to convince himself he was really there. ‘O-oh God, I thought… I thought I wouldn’t…’

A broken sob left him and Marco gently wrapped his arms around him and hugged him as tightly as he dared, holding him upright when his own failing strength gave away. ‘Schh, Jean, it’s all right. I’m here.’ He rubbed soothing circles into Jean’s back with one hand, while the other found its way up his neck to the shorter, dark hair hiding beneath the longer blond. Jean was trembling, muscles weak and shivering under Marco’s touch, his skin boiling through the damp clothes. Marco took a deep breath, forcing back the tears pooling in his eyes before they had a chance to fall. He held Jean closer and repeated his earlier words in a shaky whisper by Jean’s ear; ‘I’m here. I’m here.’

‘I—I’m so s-sorry, Marco, I didn’t mean for this…’ Jean’s fingers clutched at the back of Marco’s shirt, afraid he would slip away if he let go. ‘I was going to you b-but… Hannes always lets me out but now he refused to because Levi had ordered him not to and so I found Levi but then I—I…’

‘I know, Jean. It's okay. I’ll cure you now, all right?’

Jean tensed, but didn’t pull away. He just shook his head without lifting it from where it rested on Marco’s shoulder, his hair brushing over Marco’s skin. ‘They’ll see.’ His voice was so small and muffled further by how he pressed the words into Marco’s clothes. ‘They barely leave me alone, Marco. There isn’t enough time…’

As if fate wanted to prove his point before Marco had time to protest, the door opened and a short, hooded figure walked inside. The dark green of the nun’s clothes seemed black in the dimness of the chamber, but the Sign of Eri embroidered over the front gleamed bright in the light from the flickering candle flames.

The old woman didn’t comment on Marco being there; she simply placed herself on the other side of the bed and gave Jean the cup she’d carried with her. Medicine they all knew wouldn’t beat this fever, but Jean took the cup without question and drunk it all anyway. Marco held a steadying arm around his back just in case he wouldn’t be able to hold himself sitting; once the cup was empty and returned, Jean slumped back into Marco’s side.

‘Your Highness ought to be resting,’ the nun said and made a small gesture towards the pillow. Marco swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. Resting wouldn’t make him well. Death was looming over Jean’s bedside and these people still refused to use what actually existed to save him.

Jean made no fuss about it though. He was so unlike himself, so quiet in his responses to all things that under normal circumstances would’ve made him scowl and curse **;** he just did what he was told. He gave Marco’s arm a weak tug as he leaned away, and Marco quickly helped him lie down again.

The nun watched them in silence. When Marco straightened up she gave him a meaning look, expecting him to leave the chamber with her. He wouldn’t, of course; he refused to let anyone force or guilt him into leaving. He had permission to be by Jean’s side, and by his side he’d stay.

But the nun’s expression still unnerved him. He didn’t want to argue or have to prove anything. Time was already running short.

Marco was saved from it by how Jean didn’t let go of his hand, but tightened his grip and tugged Marco closer as he sent a pointed stare in the direction of the nun. ‘Leave us.’

‘Your Highness—’

‘ _Leave_.’

The nun sighed, but didn’t say anything else. She just leaned down to press two fingers to Jean’s forehead, tracing a circle around the deep crease between his eyebrows, and then bowed her head and left.

Marco watched the door for a moment longer, almost expecting someone else to burst in to pour more useless, warm water down Jean’s throat, or pray for blessings and ward off evil instead of letting the “evil” help. All while Jean’s strength quickly withered away. Jean’s fingers entwined with Marco’s, and he squeezed them reassuringly out of habit.

‘Another one was here right before you came,’ Jean said, drawing Marco’s full attention back to him. He was watching Marco with tired eyes, but managed to keep the gaze steady. ‘I can’t tell them apart anymore, but the point is that they’re here. I’m too far gone, I know. To cure this, you’d need time you don’t have.’ His lip trembled with the last words, and he had to take a deep breath and close his mouth for a moment to steady his voice. When he used it again, it came out in a small sigh. ‘I’m sorry. P-please don’t be mad at me…’

‘ _Jean_.’ Marco sank to the bedside, leaning closer. ‘I’m not mad at you,’ he whispered, his eyes again filling with tears. ‘I just want to help…’

Jean didn’t answer, didn’t need to. They both knew. He closed his eyes and swallowed, pressing his lips together. After a few deep breaths through his nose he looked at Marco again. ‘Will you stay?’

Marco nodded, not trusting his voice to speak, and after taking off his boots and cloak he climbed into the bed. Jean shifted to give him space and then wriggled as close to him as physically possible. Marco sat back against the headboard and rested his cheek to Jean’s head. Jean shivered, the fever making his skin slick with sweat. The gathered tears fell from Marco’s eyes.

‘I swore to myself I wouldn’t leave without curing you,’ Marco mumbled into Jean’s hair. ‘If I get the chance, I’ll—’

The door opened again and the nun came back inside in.

‘What?’ Jean scowled at her, without lifting his head from Marco’s chest. Instead, he pressed himself closer as to dare the nun to question what on earth the other boy was doing in the prince’s sickbed.

The nun didn’t say anything about it. ‘I’m to stay by my lord’s side tonight.’

Marco’s hold around Jean tightened, and Jean squeezed his hand in understanding. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than stand there and watch me die?’ he spit out. The words sent venom through Marco’s veins, threatening to stop his heart if it reached that far. ‘And I _told_ you to leave us alone.’

‘It’s orders from the duchess, my lord. Eri will be present through me and hopefully help you recover.’

Jean snorted. ‘We all know that’s not going to happen.’

The nun didn’t deny it. ‘If my lord wishes, I’ll sit over by the table,’ she said, gesturing towards the other end of the chamber where the bookshelves covered the wall. Jean still glared, but at least it was enough of a distance to let them whisper in private, so he nodded.

New tears rushed down Marco’s cheeks when the nun settled on her chair, the dying hope twisting in his stomach. Jean wiped them away the best he could with a shaky hand, before Marco grasped it in his own and pressed desperate kisses to the palm. Looking down to meet Jean’s eyes, Marco felt even worse at the sight of the defeated expression he found in them. _Please don’t give up. Please, please._

‘If I get the chance,’ he repeated, voice muffled by Jean’s hand, ‘I’ll do it.’

Jean closed his eyes, again without answering. Instead he tilted his head to plant a small kiss on Marco’s neck, right where the tattoos peeked out above the hem of his tunic.

Marco lost track of time after that. Each minute lasted an age, and yet they all went by too fast. After a while, Jean stopped trying to hide the blood he coughed up from his lungs. He let Marco help the best he could, wiping it from his lips and holding him while he struggled to breathe normally again. The fever made Jean dozy and confused; he mumbled what came to his mind without a second thought, giggled at half-told jokes that only made sense to him, and whispered of memories and promises that would once have made Marco smile but now only caused more tears to trickle from his eyes.

‘I love the stars you make,’ Jean said after a moment of silence, a dreamy smile spreading in his face. The words tightened cold around Marco’s heart. ‘I love stars, but yours are special. I love them the most. It’s like… you made them for me.’

‘I did…’

‘Because you know I love them. You were always so kind to me, even though you didn’t have to. I… I wish I could do something like that for you too…’

‘ _Jean_.’ Marco held him closer, pressing his tear-stained cheek to Jean’s hairline. ‘Just being with you is all I’ll ever need, you hear me? I just want to be with you.’

Jean swallowed the smile away, eyes trailing over the glow of the fire. Neither of them said anything to that, but the pressing silence was enough. Marco glanced at the nun, for the hundredth time considering to try despite her being there. How long would it take before she realised what he was doing and alerted the guards? It wouldn’t be enough. But maybe they’d let him go on… maybe they would realise it was the only way…

‘Can you make some now?’

Marco blinked in confusion before he understood what Jean meant. ‘No… no I can’t, Jean, I’m sorry. It’s… we’re inside. There’s no snow in here.’

‘Oh… right, of course.’ Jean stared up at the ceiling without really seeing it. ‘Snow…’

Silence fell again. But it didn’t last long, and when Jean spoke again something in the atmosphere had changed. His voice was soft like a sigh, yet awake in a way it hadn’t been for hours.

‘I never was very fond of snow before I met you,’ he whispered and Marco stared down at him, finding the eyes meeting his aware and focused. His own blurred with tears. Jean gave him a shaky smile, holding his arm with a weak, cold hand. ‘I love you, Marco Bodt.’

Marco fought to stop himself from crying, but the tears fell all the same. ‘I love you, I love you,’ he sobbed, holding Jean close, and pressed kisses to his brow. ‘I’ll always love you, for the rest of my life will love you. Please, please… _Jean_ … please don’t leave me...’

Jean’s eyes had closed, his cheek resting on Marco’s shoulder in heavy silence. The fever still burned hot in his chest, but the coldness in his fingers was now spreading quickly through the rest of his system, with no regard for Marco’s panicked pleading. When the last lingering drops of faltering strength died away it left his body motionless in Marco’s shaking arms.

Marco didn’t notice the nun until the wrinkled old hand landed on Jean’s forehead. She put all her focus into Jean, not once acknowledging Marco’s loud sobbing.  But Jean reacted to nothing, and after a while the nun let her hand slide down his cheek and brushed her thumb gently over his closed eye. She sighed, the sound deep and sad, before finally looking at Marco.

‘I’ll give you some time,’ she said, her eyes filled with pity. Marco’s insides revolted and more tears streamed from his eyes. ‘His fate is in the hands of the Gods now.’

 _The Gods_ , Marco thought as the nun closed the door behind her. _The Gods don’t meddle_.

The arm under Jean’s shoulders was the only thing holding up his unconscious form, and when Marco shifted around to get in a better position, Jean’s head fell away from his shoulder with a low whimper. Marco clung to that sign of life with all the shattered pieces of hope he had left. He gently lifted Jean’s head back to rest against his chest, and kissed his brow one last time.

 _The Gods sent their gifts to Earth to let the blessed do good in their stead_.

The droplets fell silently down Marco’s cheeks as he placed his free hand over Jean’s heart, focusing on moving all his remaining energy to his fingers. To press it into Jean. To use it to tear out the evil intruder festering there. ‘P-please hold on, love, please hold on a bit longer,’ he whispered, praying to whatever higher power might be listening and ready to help.

Movements and voices echoed through the closed door. Time was already running out. But he knew in that instant that as long as he could save Jean, the rest didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let them force him away from him before it was done.

Energy pulsed through his body, sharp and tingling with the force building inside him. He pressed his lips together, teeth biting into the lower one in concentration. Sweat broke from his skin and joined the tears trailing down his cheeks. But it was taking too long; he wasn’t being fast enough. _Focus, Marco. Focus._

Then the blue glow spread between his fingers, and the door opened behind him.

_May the Gods lend me strength._

* * *

The glowing stars were still sailing through the air above him when his eyes slowly opened; singing sweet songs with the purest of voices, wordless, meaningful. He blinked against the dim grey light, faint smile replaced by a frown when the snowflakes faded before his eyes. Weren’t they real? Marco did it with actual ice, not just as an illusion for the mind that was impossible to touch with extended hands.

Jean tried to catch the last of them with his fingers but found his arm to be far too heavy, and it fell back to the mattress with a soft thud.

The mattress. The bed.

He was in his bed. Inside. He closed his eyes again with a sigh. Of course it didn’t snow inside, it must have been a dream lingering as he woke up. Marco wouldn’t be here anyway, not in Jean’s chambers inside the castle. Not…

Jean’s eyes flew open, fully awake this time. He turned his head and craned his neck the best he could to scan his empty room. Marco wasn’t there. _Marco wasn’t there._

With trembling arms, he managed to lift himself up in a poor excuse for a sitting position, the tired muscles screaming in protest. His skin was slick and disgusting; the sweaty shirt clung to it and greasy strands of hair stuck to his brow. Suddenly aware of his own condition — and the fact that he was able to be aware of it in the first place — Jean fought the panic building in his chest. He was better, _he was alive_ , and Marco was gone.

It took a few tries before his voice got loud enough to carry through the closed door. But once it did he couldn’t stop repeating the same shout, growing more frantic each time. Levi didn’t take long to answer the plea, though his name still echoed between the walls even after he had entered the room.

‘Levi—Levi, where… where is he? Where’s—’

‘Jean, for fuck’s sake.’ Levi pushed at his shoulders with firm hands. ‘Calm down and lie back, you need to rest. You’re still ill.’

Even when he was well, Jean couldn’t match Levi’s strength; in his weakened state his arms gave away with no resistance, and he fell back to the sheets shivering. Levi didn’t touch his skin though, didn’t measure his heat with fingers pressed to his forehead like the nuns. He just wrinkled his nose and kept his hold of Jean’s shoulders.

‘But I’m better… I shouldn’t be, Levi, I…I should be dead…’

‘But you aren’t. That’s what important.’

Jean clutched Levi’s clothes, stopping him from backing away. He stared up at the older man’s expressionless face while shaking his own head about something, but he wasn’t sure what.

‘Where’s Marco?’ he managed to get out after sending a trailing glance towards the door to make sure it was closed. ‘Levi, you must tell me. What have they done to him? Please…’

‘Nothing. Marco left as soon as he could, and his family and Hanji are all gone with him. I don’t know where. But they haven’t found him.’

Relieved sobs broke through Jean’s weak defences and he let go of Levi’s shirt to sink back to the bed, hugging himself tightly as he tried to take calm breaths through the tears.

Levi straightened up, wiping his hands on a handkerchief, his face set in the usual bored expression. Then he glanced back down when Jean spoke again.

‘I… I told him not to, he wasn’t supposed to do it…’ Jean stumbled through his foggy memories, realising even as he said the words that they weren’t really true. Marco had promised he would save him.

Levi sighed. ‘Quit this bullshit, Jean. You’re both alive thanks to him not listening to your shitty orders. Good thing at least one of you have any sense.’

Jean turned his face back towards Levi, gaze frustrated. ‘Sense?’ he repeated, spitting it out. ‘ _Sense_? They’re going to kill him—’

‘They can’t do that if they can’t find him.’

‘But _what if they do_?’

‘Your faith in him seems to be awfully lacking.’ Levi raised a thin, quizzical eyebrow. ‘And in Hanji too. You think it’s sheer luck it took so long before the police found any of the healers? Do you know how many _years_ they’ve practised magic _inside_ the city?’

Jean didn’t answer. The worry and anxiety were still too strong for him to just relax but even so he had to admit that Levi had a point.

Then the phrasing hit him. ‘Wait, what do you mean “took so long before—”’

The next moment his mother stormed through the door, interrupting their conversation. She took in the scene with one look, not stopping before she was sitting on the side of Jean’s bed, leaning over him and holding his chin in her hands. ‘The Gods have saved you, Jean,’ she whispered. Her voice was strangely watery, a lot tenderer than usual. Her whole being seemed so fragile, and her eyes were blank as they moved over his face. ‘They heard my prayers after all…’

Not sure how to respond, Jean glanced at Levi. The fencing master shrugged and leaned his weight to the left, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the duchess fuss over her youngest child.

‘You must change now, Jean,’ she went on, her gaze distant and fingers running through his hair soothingly like she did when he was small. ‘You must take responsibility and prove to everyone that you deserved to be saved, that this mark you bare on your chest is a sign of their blessing…’

Jean frowned, then remembered the magical runes marking a healed place and realised he must have another one now. He pulled at his shirt to reveal the left side, finding the still glowing symbol above his heart. It was bigger than the one on his knee; a squiggly circle nearly the size of his own palm.

The duchess looked at it too and touched the skin with her fingertips, before her expression grew sterner. ‘The wretched witch who did this to you will be found and punished for his crimes,’ she said, her voice now so much colder.

Jean’s full attention snapped back to her. ‘Wait, wait… _what?_ ’' He managed to pull himself up on his elbows in an attempt to even out the height difference between them, but his mother straightened her back, still looking down on him. ‘You can’t claim the Gods saved me and then accuse someone of using evil to do the same thing!’

‘He made you ill to begin with,’ she stated, the subject clearly not open for discussion. ‘The wicked cannot be allowed to go free.’

‘He _cured_ me, Mother! This Sign of Eri on my chest is thanks to _him_.’

‘This sign is thanks to the Gods, Jean. Whatever good you think of him are delusions caused by the witchcraft he has used on you. But we’ll find him, and you’ll be freed from his grasp…’

‘With all due respect, Your Highness,’ Levi said, voice completely lacking the politeness his words were meant to hold. ‘But your son is alive because of that boy’s gifts. Without it Eri would not have reached him.’

Lady Kirschtein turned and stared at Levi, eyes fierce and unwavering like the stillness before a winter storm. Jean shrank down just by seeing her direct it at someone else, but Levi stood his ground. ‘You lost your right to speak here when you not only failed to keep Jean in safety, but then also brought that devil inside our walls!’ she spat out. ‘You should be thankful you haven’t been punished yet. Now get out! This is no business of yours anymore.’

Levi left without argument and was soon replaced by one of the nuns. The woman continued the fussing under the duchess’s watchful eyes; she blessed and muttered and prompted Jean to drink up all the tea she’d brought with her. Sometimes she glanced at the sign etched in Jean’s skin, her silent frown revealing that she wasn’t as convinced as the duchess claimed to be about how it had appeared there. She didn’t say anything though.

His mother was still in the room when sleep took him again, and the times Jean stirred awake her hand was there to brush through his hair. It was surreal to have her so close for so long, and part of him wondered if maybe it was only a dream.

Eventually, the duchess left him; when he woke up for real in the pitch black darkness, sweaty and panicking about nightmares still clinging to his skin, he was alone. Reality washed over him again, strong crashing waves of relief that Marco wasn’t arrested, followed by grief that he was gone.

Levi returned later that night. ‘Marco left this,’ he said, tossing the thing from where he stood by the end of Jean’s bed. ‘He figured it’d be taken from you if he left it here while you were unconscious so… Keep it close, and hidden.’

Jean stared down at the braided ribbons in his hands, sensing the energy woven into it. He swallowed down the thick knot forming in his throat and did his best to force away the tears pooling in his eyes. He’d cried enough in front Levi when he first woke up and preferred not to do it again.

‘Before Mother interrupted earlier,’ he said instead, ‘you mentioned something about the healers...’

Levi met his asking eyes with silence, and the longer it continued the more it said. Jean’s mouth was dry when he opened it again to ask what happened, but Levi spoke first.

‘One group of three was arrested the day I brought Marco here. His group, more precisely.  So if it makes you feel any better, know that if you had gone to him yourself you’d most likely been found there, and if I hadn’t come for him before it happened...’

It didn’t make Jean feel better at all. He stared at Levi, arms pressed around his revolting stomach. ‘I—I have to stop it...’

‘It’s too late. You’ve been unconscious and delirious for days. It’s already been done.’

‘N-no...’ Jean bent over, shaking his head in desperation; this time the silent tears refused to be held back. ‘No no no...’

‘They wouldn’t have listened to us anyway,’ Levi said. ‘I tried, but after what I’ve done...’ He made a vague gesture with his hand, allowing silence to tell the rest. ‘Speaking of that, I’m leaving tomorrow.’

Jean’s eyes shoot up in surprise. ‘Leaving? Where?’

Levi gave an indifferent shrug. ‘Somewhere else than here.’

‘But why?’

‘I’m banished for not doing my job.’ He was silent for a moment before adding, ‘That sounded strangely familiar.’

Jean stared at him in confused disbelief. ‘You can’t be banished — you fought with father during the war, you… _you’re their friend_.’

‘Guess that’s why they went with exile instead of execution.’ He smiled dryly, though it was more of a grimace than a proper smile. Still, through that brief crack in his mask Jean glimpsed something deeper, but Levi turned away before Jean could make any sense of it.

Soon after, he was gone. Eaten by the world outside with no means for Jean to find him again. All of them. Hanji, Marco’s family… Marco. Swallowed by the earth.

All Jean could do as the weeks passed into months, was pray they were safe to Gods who never answered.

He wasn’t left undisturbed. People constantly demanded things to be done, refusing to accept his excuses of still recovering from the illness. His mother prodded him about proving himself worthy, while the priest father Nick preached about punishments and the devils of the world. His father was there too, sometimes. Demanding answers and scolding his apathy. But Jean ignored him as he ignored the others, turning on his side in the bed to face the lord with his back; the times when he was forced around, he pointedly stared at nothing.

They talked, and asked things, and tried to get words out of him. But he only spoke to the servants; brief conversation abruptly cut short if anyone else came close. Sometimes he mumbled things to the frosty patterns on the windows; words whispered with his forehead rested on the cold glass, meant for someone he knew would never hear them.

Behaving like this changed nothing, of course. But it gave him a lot of time to think, and to wonder how things would have been now if he had been able to go with Marco. Some days he was angry about it, about being left behind, but he knew it was unreasonable to think that way.

 _Sometimes I wonder if you realise what you have_ , Hanji had said once when overhearing Jean’s complaints, back when things were still normal. They peered at him through their glasses, and Jean had glared back in reply, refusing to see the point they had tried to make.

They were right, though. Like Marco had been when saying the same thing, but with different words. Jean understood that now.

He wanted the comforts this life gave him, but didn’t want to pay the price for them. He had been running from duties since they were first presented to him, sneaking away during the days and returning to rich food and a warm bed at nights. He had everything he needed handed to him, a life he would have sought if it hadn’t always been his.

Even now. His parents and elders were mad at him, but he was denied nothing of need. No one at his age in a different class would be able to spend weeks doing nothing and still run no risk of starving. Just the thought of Marco acting this way was ridiculous, and it stung that their circumstances were so different. That Jean had so much while Marco had so little. If _Marco_ shoved away his responsibilities, his mother and siblings would go hungry within days, if not less **.** It was unfair, and it made Jean ashamed of how he acted. But yet he kept it up, because it was the only way he knew how to show his parents that he didn’t agree with their views.

‘You cannot ignore me forever, Jean,’ his mother said over and over with such confidence, such certainty. At least to begin with. But as one week became several, Jean noticed a small shift in her tone; his silence bothered her. More so than she would ever admit. People saw her as cold and emotionless, but there was something far more vulnerable behind that façade, hidden and securely tucked away. He could hear it in her voice, that fear of losing what mattered most of all.

Jean knew he hurt her, and that she knew that he was well aware of it. She might even be using it to guilt him into talking again, grasping at anything to make this silence stop. His fingers clenched into fists, the tightly braided ribbons still looped around his right wrist and palm soft against his touch. Calming, and at the same time reminding him why he mustn’t give in to their demands. He wouldn’t let them have their way. Not this time.

‘We’ll find him,’ she repeated for the umpteenth time while she paced back and forth in his room. Jean glared at the melting snow on his windowsill; outside the air was fogged by smoke and ash from the bonfires. More healers had been found, and only one fate awaited such criminals. ‘And he’ll be punished for the crimes he has committed. Once he’s dead his wicked witchcraft will break its hold of you and your senses will retu—’

Her voice died in her mouth when Jean turned and looked straight at her. His stare was hard, unwavering, and rimmed red from anger and tears not yet shed.

‘If you continue this,’ he whispered, voice thick with emotions and icy promise, ‘if you find him and as much as touch him without his consent, if you hurt him in any way possible, if…’ He took a deep breath, and when he continued the tears finally trickled down his cheeks. ‘If you do what you just said, then pray at least the Gods forgive your evil, for I will never speak to you again.’

His mother stood staring at him in silence after that, unmoving and with nothing but naked hurt written all over her face. She was still the same when he broke their eye contact what felt like ages later and left the window to push past her, storming out of the room.

Maybe she understood. Or maybe she didn’t. Nothing really changed, except the promises of executions no longer came from her. Jean didn’t answer the others, though. He knew anything he said would be used against Marco if they found him.

So he remained silent again, ignoring the threats and demands as best he could. Until eventually one day, they stopped.

* * *

The small house stood on the outskirts of the village, just about far enough away to be hidden by the trees of the forest when night and winter fell. People knew they lived there, but left them to their own business most of the time. They only came for brief visits, usually in a hurry, asking for the midwife when a child was about to be born.

Many small children had died during the last few years, but the previous months had brought a welcomed change. The widowed Elena Bodt had not lost a single baby since she arrived, and if she so happened to have help of something _extra_ , people were more than ready to see past that.

Marco poured as much healing and magic he could into the tools his mother carried with her, like he had done back in Trost once she allowed it. But except for that he laid low, letting his mother take on the light of people’s interest and hide him with her own shadow. To the villagers of Jinae he was only the midwife’s son who helped raise his siblings; with his smiles and kind words it wasn’t hard to make them content with this image.

If anyone noticed the sadness hidden in his eyes, they never asked him about it.

The short daylight of the winter day was already gone by the time Marco reached the house that yet had to feel properly like home. He was tired and his mood had been better, but he was glad to be back finally and that this stressful day was coming to an end.

His mother had been called away at a bad time, and it left him with the responsibility of their home and the twins. Keeping busy was usually a good thing that distracted from thoughts better left alone. But today they still found a way to get to him, hitting hard when he least expected it.

He was all right, really. This was only a bad day made worse by the stress, and he had reminded himself of that several times during its course. Tomorrow would be better.

Loneliness was the cause of most of it. Maria was gone to work and live at a farm on the other side of the valley, and Marco still hesitated to get too close to anyone in the village for fear of being discovered. That left him with his mother and two twelve-year-olds for company. Of course, Hanji stopped by more often than not, but none of them could quite fill the hole in his chest formed in the shape of a very specific person.

Marco longed for so many things about him, but most of all he missed his best friend. And that feeling was very hard to shake.

He entered through the front door, sighing in relief to be home. Moving into the kitchen, Marco set the food he had bought on the table and pulled off his cloak. He heard the twins laughing from outside, and when he glanced through the window he saw the snowman they must have built while he was away. It stood tall, much higher than them, and he wondered for brief moment how they had managed to get the head up that far. But he brushed the thought away, turning to the bench to prepare the soup they were to have for dinner.

He hummed to himself, not so much out of joy as it was something to focus on while chopping the vegetables. Something to keep his mind from wandering to places that only made him sad. His mood was down enough as it was already.

‘Do you surrender?’ a loud scream edging on laughter came from outside. Marco smiled a little, shaking his head with a soft sigh at the children’s game. They were turning thirteen soon, the same age Marco had been when two of the most important pieces of his life had begun to take form. He didn’t mean to make the association, but those thoughts were a natural part of him. Just like his magic, and the way his heart ached for someone he might never be able to see again.

He put down the knife and closed his eyes, forcing himself to brace against the wave of twisting emotions that washed over him with all the memories. They were so vivid he could have sworn he heard a deeper voice echoing the laughter of the twins.

Marco’s eyes snapped open. It wasn’t who he thought, of course, but there definitely was someone else out there playing with the kids. Holding his breath, not daring to get his hopes up, Marco stumbled to the backdoor and opened it with shaking hands.

One of the children was laughing on their knees. The other straddled the third person’s chest, taunting him with demands of surrender while holding a gigantic snowball above his head. The poor guest sprawled beneath the devilish child made half-hearted attempts to get away, but ended up covering his face with his arms and begging for mercy. The twin — Macy, if Marco was correct — cackled in triumph and dropped the snow anyway, before jumping off and away to join Milo in a dance of victory.

Spluttering and shivering but also laughing, the guest rose to his feet. He brushed the snow and ice from his beautiful dark cloak and blond hair, and sent a playful glare in the direction of the laughing kids. He was younger than Marco, but the difference wasn’t as obvious as it had been six years before. Now he was tall, shoulders broad under the cloak and facial features sharply defined. His whole being cured from the disease that almost killed him.

‘Marco!’ the twins called, but Marco didn’t dare take his eyes from the one he’d missed for almost a year, so much his heart sighed from each thought. Jean’s own eyes snapped up at that, found Marco’s gaze and froze in position staring back at him. He seemed a bit uncertain, as if afraid he’d invaded a place he had no right to be in. Marco realised his own expression must look devastated. He tried to force it away, but instead tears welled up in his eyes. With shaky breaths around a silent chanting of a name, he stepped out into the snow towards Jean, who leapt forward to meet him halfway.

The strength in the arms wrapping around Marco was a sharp contrast to how weak Jean had been when Marco last saw him. It made Marco trembled in relief. His sobs were muffled by the fur of Jean’s cloak, and hands painfully clutched the cloth with no intention or ability to let go. Jean’s lips trailed soft but urgent kisses where they reached on his jawline and cheek, whispering his name between each of them.

When Marco finally managed to pull away enough to see Jean’s eyes again, he steadied his shaky hands on each side of his face. With gentle thumbs he wiped away tears from cold cheeks, while a new stream fell down his own. He leaned forward and planted his lips between Jean’s creased brows, and his heart fluttered with how Jean leaned into the touch.

‘How did you find us?’ Marco whispered, nose still nuzzled in Jean’s hair.

‘Hanji got me a message, finally. My horse is standing somewhere around the corner, unless she fled when the snow war started…’

‘You rode out here alone?’ Marco pulled back to look at him. ‘These woods are dangerous to travel unprotected—’

‘Don’t worry, Petra and Auruo are staying at an inn down in the village. They kind of know about you, but it’s all right,’ Jean added when he saw Marco’s expression. ‘I trust them.’

The names sounded familiar, and then the image of the red-haired guard outside Jean’s chambers flashed by Marco’s eyes. She had been there when Levi rushed Marco out after curing Jean, and the short moment their eyes had locked she had given him such a grateful stare he was sure she knew what he had done.

He nodded and smiled, and Jean’s own solemn face broke into a wide grin, eyes gleaming. ‘Gods, I’m so happy I found you, Marco, you have no idea...’

‘Oh, I’m pretty sure I can guess,’ Marco murmured, bumping his nose into Jean’s. ‘Probably about as happy as I am.’

Jean let out a breathy laugh, and the sound of it made Marco’s heart sing. But when Jean leaned in to kiss him, his face froze and he turned away.

Jean stopped with a concerned frown. ‘What…?’

‘It wouldn’t be right,’ Marco said, barely even hearing his own voice. He didn’t meet Jean’s confused eyes. ‘It’s wrong to them…’

‘Who?’

‘Your betrothed.’ Marco glanced at Jean in time to see his mouth form a silent ‘o’, then cast his eyes back to the ground. ‘I haven’t heard anything about it, of course, because I haven’t been into Trost since I left and people here don’t seem to care much about such things but… I figured Hanji or Maria just … didn’t say anything…’

‘Marco…’

‘Not to keep it from me, but I guess they were afraid of how I’d … react.’ Considering how much he’d been crying the first weeks at every mention of Jean, it wasn’t a surprise if they had been wary about bringing it up.

‘Marco, listen…’

‘It’s fine,’ he said as his heart shattered in its cage. ‘It’s fine. I always knew it’d come to this. We both did. It’s all right. I’m just so happy to see you! You look so well, s-so—’

‘ _Marco_.’ Jean gently guided Marco’s eyes back to his own, wiping away the new tears with the pads of his thumbs. He smiled a little; not sad, only loving. ‘I’m not engaged.’

‘N-no?’ Marco swallowed, uncertain. ‘You… you’ve already married them?’

‘What? No!’ Jean sighed in frustration and then added, ‘There is no “them”. There is no one else. Only you.’

‘I don’t understand… you’ve been of age for months.’ Marco grasped at anything he could think of to hold himself together, to stop himself from hoping. ‘Your parents…?’

‘I’m the third son, there’s no hurry. Might even be I don’t have to marry at all if I’m lucky. But it’s too early to say for sure.’

‘How…?’

Jean gave him a bashful smile. ‘I kind of… made a deal with mother. To behave. No sneaking out, no avoiding my duties, no… disobedience. If I did this, she’d make sure they stopped searching for you. And, well… she kept her part of it so… I continued it. And now they’re so pleased they’re ready to listen to what I want. At least some parts.’

Marco stared at him with mouth agape and heart still afraid to believe this was the truth. ‘So you really aren’t promised to anyone?’

‘ _No_.’ Jean pulled Marco’s face closer to his own, all the while holding his gaze and caressing Marco’s cheeks. ‘Only to you. I-if you still want me, of course…’

‘If I still— _Jean—_ ’ Marco fell silent again when Jean pressed two fingers to his lips, biting his own as he considered how best to phrase his next words.

‘I—I know it’s not much,’ he began slowly, ‘compared to all songs and fairy tales. And I hope you believe me when I say I wish for nothing more than to be able to give that to you one day… b-but until then I…’ He swallowed, eyes falling and fingers fumbling with the cloth of Marco’s tunic while he collected himself. Then he looked up again. ‘Whatever happens, Marco, whatever my parents think they’re doing, whatever it says in those political documents that will be archived for generations to come and make up history… they can’t give me away to someone, to anyone. Only _I_ can do that, a-and… I’m _yours_. I will always yours.’

Marco tried to swallow back the tears, but found it to be impossible. With a shivering sigh he let them fall down past his shaky smile. This time he met Jean’s lips with his own, kissing him back with all the love and longing that had been stored inside of him since they’d last met.

‘I love you,’ he mumbled into it, smiling wide.

Jean pressed a relieved sigh into the crook of his neck. ‘You scared me for a moment there,’ he said with a short, nervous laugh. Marco hummed in question, his nose brushing the short hair behind Jean’s ear. ‘I... I thought you’d found someone else...’

Marco pulled back to meet Jean’s eyes with a concerned frown, shaking his head. ‘I’m yours, too,’ he said softly and took Jean’s chin in his hands again. ‘I’ve given you bits and pieces ever since the day you asked for my name, and they’ll all be yours for as long as you want me.’

A silly grin spread in Jean’s face, before his cheeks burned bright at the memory. ‘Oh Gods, don’t bring that up, Marco,’ he whined, but it was with a laugh hiding behind it. ‘I was so _embarrassing_.’

‘That might be true,’ Marco mused with a crooked smile and earned a soft shove for his words. ‘But I still thought you were cute.’

Jean muttered something about ‘just _cute_?’ but his pretended scowl cracked when Marco laughed and kissed him again.

The force of the huge snowball hitting Marco in the back was definitely not natural. He stumbled into an unprepared Jean and brought him with him in the fall; the sniggering that followed was the only needed proof of the foul play. The twins were mischievous enough _without_ magic, but since certain signs had started to show they had become almost unbearable.

Luckily, Marco still had the advantage of being far better than them, and the warning glare he shot over his shoulder was enough to send them running.

He didn’t chase after them, though. He turned back to Jean who was pinned beneath him and apologised with a soft sigh. Jean only chuckled and patted his arm.

Then his eyes widened. ‘Oh Gods, Marco! You’re barely wearing anything!’

Marco looked down at himself, suddenly aware of the cold. He hadn’t had a thought of taking on the cloak before rushing out, and Jean must have been too busy seeing _him_ to pay attention to how he was dressed.

‘We have to go inside before you catch your death,’ Jean urged and tried to push himself up despite Marco still lying on top of him. It might have worked if Marco had moved with him, but instead he made himself heavier and put his hands firmly on Jean’s shoulders to hold him down.

‘I like it here,’ he said with a cheeky smile when Jean frowned at him.

Jean opened his mouth to argue, but then his eyes fell on something above them and his lips pressed together into a tight line. Marco watched his expression with a small smile and then glanced up at the silent snowfall descending over them. The magic glittered and sparkled in the air, just like it had when they first kissed. It felt so long ago now.

A shuddering sigh went through Jean’s body and he tugged his cloak free from between them to wrap what he could around Marco’s form as well, hugging him close. Marco burrowed into his shared warmth and kissed his wet cheek until the tight expression loosened into a smile. Jean tore his glassy eyes from the sky to meet Marco’s, and his smile widened.

‘How long will you stay?’ Marco asked, remembering Jean’s escort waiting in Jinae.

‘They won’t expect to go anywhere tonight, so...’ Jean’s voice trailed off, gaze asking what he couldn’t get out in words.

Marco answered with an eager smile. ‘We won’t be alone though, I’m afraid,’ he added. ‘The house is small and I...’ Suddenly embarrassed by both what he had to say and the hidden meaning behind it, he found great interest in the details of Jean’s vest. ‘Well I... don’t have my own room. I’m sorry.’

Jean nudged him with his chin, and when Marco looked up again he found Jean waving his gloves before his face, telling him without words to at least put them on. Marco did as told and Jean’s bare hands buried in his hair. It wouldn’t be a surprise to find small braids among the curls later.

‘I don’t care if I end up having a pillow fight the whole night with your devils for siblings,’ Jean replied, ‘as long as I’m in it with you.’

Marco grinned. ‘That can probably be arranged.’

Jean snorted out a laugh, but it was short. ‘I’m just glad at least two in your family don’t hate me,’ he said, voice solemn and eyes focusing on the curls twined around his fingers by Marco’s ear.

‘None of them do, Jean. I promise.’

Jean kept his hands busy, only glancing at Marco’s soft expression before his gaze once again found the sky. The silence stretched, and Marco settled back with his ear pressed to Jean’s heartbeats and sleepy eyes watching his own fingers trail the pattern embroidered in Jean’s vest. A few snowflakes landed and glittered on the cloth before the magic sparkle dimmed down.

‘Thank you.’

Jean’s voice was small but clear, devoid of any joking tone. Marco lifted his head from his chest to look at him, brows furrowed in concerned curiosity. ‘For what?’

‘Saving my life.’

With a small sigh and a tight smile Marco pushed himself up and closer to press an urgent kiss to Jean’s lips, and then a softer one to the tip of his nose. ‘Thank you for being alive,’ he whispered back, holding Jean’s gaze with his own.

The mood shifted a little when Marco’s eyes instead fell on the hood stuck under Jean’s head. He set to rearrange it so it would properly protect Jean from the cold and a satisfied grin spread over his lips once Jean’s face was encircled by the fur.

Jean looked on with raised eyebrows and gave an unimpressed snort in reply to Marco’s chuckle. But his eyes smiled, radiating all the love pulsing in his veins from his heart. He wrapped his arms tightly around Marco’s shoulders and tugged him back down into the warmth of the embrace, whispers and lips grazing over his skin.

They stayed there for a moment longer, smiling and laughing and kissing the last tears away, while the snow in the air around them fell from above like stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I'd love to hear what you think! :')


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